


cornerstone

by founders



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Casual Intimacy, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Weddings, a ridiculous amount of bromance, like seriously, lots of fond and affectionate lafayette and hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 82,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/founders/pseuds/founders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’ll hold Laf’s hand, charm his family, sit through the vows and the speeches and the cake cutting and determinedly not think about how that could have been him, once, up there, declaring his love in front of everyone. He’s got Lafayette, he’s got a free bar, practically nothing can go wrong, surely.</p><p>It turns out that everything can go wrong in a very short amount of time."</p><p> .</p><p>The One Where alex is forced to spend a painful week being exposed to his ex-boyfriend who he's probably still not over and his adorable baby girl all the while having to convince his best friend's family that they're dating, when they're really, really not</p><p>[author name used to be rosenbergs]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you're not a fan of alex and lafayette being ambiguously gay bros then this isn't the fic for you, it really, really isn't

 

 

 

 

> Cornerstone:
> 
>   1. An important quality or feature on which a particular thing depends
>   2. A stone that forms the base of a corner, joining two walls 
> 


* * *

“No,” Alex says as soon as he opens the door and sees Lafayette spin around and aim his big puppy dog eyes at him. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

Lafayette pouts, over dramatic. “But you don’t know what it is yet,” he whines.

Alex levels his gaze on Cato and Hercules on the couch, Cato completely uninterested as usual, reading a magazine and ignoring all of them, and Herc looking amused but exasperated.

“Do I want to know?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at them.

Hercules huffs an amused breath. “Hear him out.”

“This better be good,” Alex mutters and kicks off his shoes, wrangling his arms out of his coat and hanging it up on the hooks by the door, dumping his keys in the little bowl that Cato had nudged into his eyesight and stared at significantly until Alex started using it and thus started losing his keys less often.

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” Lafayette says and Alex’s brain screeches to a halt.

“I’m sorry, what?” he manages.

“Be my boyfriend,” Lafayette says again. Alex blinks at him blankly.

“It’s just for a little bit, for a wedding, my dear Adrienne is getting married and I’m the best man and I’ve not told her about that ugly business with _Sean_ ,” he spits the name like it tastes disgusting and Alex winces. That had most definitely been an _ugly business_ , involving Lafayette and his now ex-boyfriend yelling at each other from either sides of the room every night for four nights straight until Hercules banged two pots together and told them to get the fuck out. Lafayette doesn’t even fucking _live_ with them so god knows why he decided he’d have his domestic disputes at their flat.

“And I don’t want to tell her because she told me she was excited to meet _mon amour_ and I don’t want to upset her and Hercules is already invited and has chosen Cato over me and you’re my second best friend so please at least consider it,” he finishes and shoots Alex a pleading look.

Alex closes his eyes. Breathes deep. “I need a drink,” he says, and goes to stare at the inside of the fridge.

It’s stacked with Hercules’ weird fruity smoothies and protein shakes but Alex can spot a can of Diet Coke somewhere in the back corner. He shoves his hand in and rummages around, trying to reach it, and emerges triumphant a few seconds later. He pops the top and takes a cool sip, relaxing his shoulders, and almost spits it right back out when he turns around and Lafayette is stood less than a foot away from him.

“Pretend to be my boyfriend, just for this one week, I will even pay you!” he begs.

“I don’t want your money, Laf,” Alex replies, a little defensive. Lafayette’s shoulders slump and he looks down at his feet. He’s got pigeon toes, the kind that point in just a little, and it’s incredibly endearing. Impossible to say no to. Alex sighs.

“Is this really that important to you?”

Lafayette’s head snaps up and he nods fervently, his fingers tangled tightly together in front of him, like he’s nervous. Alex sighs again.

“When is this wedding? Because I have work to do, I can’t just miss a week of school-”

“-It’s during Spring Break,” Lafayette interrupts, looking hopeful.

Alex sighs for a third time. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” he says slowly, feeling inexplicably like he’s just sealed his own fate, and not in a good way.

Lafayette bounces up and down and claps his hands like an excited child and Alex can’t help but smile. It won’t be hard to pretend to be Lafayette’s boyfriend, they’re already so affectionate that they could be easily mistaken for an item, and Lafayette is quite possibly the most passionately enthusiastic person Alexander knows so there’ll be no trouble keeping up the act. Lafayette also loves to be dramatic, loves to feel that he’s part of something, so Alex has no doubt that Laf will give it his all.

“All you have to do is turn up, smile, maybe dance a little-”

“-Dance? With you? Um, no, I’d rather keep my toes thanks.”

Lafayette gallantly ignores him. “Hold my hand, eat some cake, pose for some pictures, that’s all. You don’t even have to be a good boyfriend, just show up in a suit and we’ll be good to go.”

Alex blinks, offended. “Excuse you, I’m going to be the best goddamn boyfriend you’ve ever had. I’m going to woo Adrienne and her family so hard that they’ll all want it to be me at that altar by the end of the week. Challenge motherfucking accepted,” he says, determined, and downs half the can of Coke.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing down the fizz and wiping his mouth. “What exactly do I need to know in order to be the best boyfriend in the world?”

And thus commences the most mind-boggling few hours of Alexander’s life, Lafayette explaining to him his tangled situation with Adrienne, his ex-fiancée, and her family who are apparently practically his family.

“She is like a sister to me,” Lafayette says happily, his eyes hazy and far away like he’s remembering something nice. Alex shoots him a strange look.

“Do you get engaged to all your sisters?” he can’t help but ask.

“Do not be so crude, Alexander,” Lafayette frowns at him. “Our love is pure and unshakeable, I would die for her,” he finishes dramatically.

“So why did you call off the marriage?”

“It turns out she’s rather partial to other ladies, as I am to men, and so we parted our ways amicably,” Lafayette provides easily. Alex finds himself completely unsurprised. Lafayette is probably the most flighty lover Alex has ever known, flitting from one person to the next like a bee searching for nectar, never staying for long and never settling down.

The complete opposite of Hercules and Cato, who are joined at the hip like a scary pair of twins, all sensible and stable and grown up while Alex and Lafayette swan about downing shots of tequila with tabasco mixed in and bemoaning their lack of foresight in the morning. Alex had something like that, once, that quiet unwavering devotion, but it’s gone now. Now he aids Lafayette in his quest to fuck his way through the entire population of Columbia Law School and the wider New York area.

Alex worries for a moment that they won’t pull this off, that he and Lafayette, as rusty as they are with commitment, won’t be able to act out this charade of happiness, but he remembers what it was like to be that affectionate, to adore someone wholly and completely, and thinks he can recreate it pretty easily. Lafayette has said he loved Adrienne so surely he has some experience in that area too, and together they should be able to fool everyone. Hopefully.

“And this isn’t just an in-and-out operation, we’re there for the whole week?” he clarifies.

Lafayette nods seriously. “I am Adrienne’s best man, I must be at her beck and call, anticipate her every need, keep her from, how you say? Stressing out. You can just mingle with the other guests or, knowing you, read your law textbooks. They have a library at the venue of the wedding, you can indulge as much as you like there.”

Alex raises his eyebrows, surprisingly pleased. “Where is the venue, even?”

“Upstate, in Albany. I believe they are using the home of Elizabeth’s family.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Adrienne’s fiancée. I only know of her but what I know is only good things. I hear she is sweet and kind, and Adrienne tells me she is very happy, _donc_ ,” he waves his hands carelessly, a kind of lazy grace that only exists within the French. Alexander gazes at him fondly, this strange man who barged his way into Alex’s life with no apologies and no regrets, filling up the spaces in Alex’s heart with his lanky legs and incredible hair, dragging him out to see the sights _en plein air_ , forcing Alex out of his hovel of misery and back into the fast paced real world.

“I hope you know you’re paying for the flight,” is all he says, pointing at his friend with mock sternness.

Lafayette presses a hand flat over his heart and leans forward. “For this favour you grant me I would do anything, Alexander,” he says meaningfully. “ _Anything_.”

And so Alex gets a friendly blowjob and a pseudo-holiday Upstate in a month’s time, which really isn’t so bad. He’ll hold Laf’s hand, charm his family, sit through the vows and the speeches and the cake cutting and determinedly not think about how that could have been him, once, up there, declaring his love in front of everyone. He’s got Lafayette, he’s got a free bar, practically nothing can go wrong, surely.

 

.

 

It turns out that everything can go wrong in a very short amount of time.

“Quiz me again,” he demands, digging his nails into the armrests of his seat on the plane, trying to distract himself from the take off. He doesn’t trust the air, not after getting stuck in a life-destroying hurricane, so Zeus can fucking suck it. Alex doesn’t trust him, or the elements, or any of the weird voo-doo magic that keeps planes aloft at hundreds of miles an hour, hundreds of miles up, and stops them all from plummeting to their deaths.

Lafayette rolls his eyes. “ _Mon ami_ , we have been through this a thousand times, your mind is like a sponge, there is no way you do not know it.”

“Quiz me anyway,” Alex demands, determined.

Lafayette sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to need a lot of alcohol on this flight, aren’t I,” he says, mostly to himself it seems.

“Unlucky,” Alex says, bouncing nervously in his seat. “They don’t serve alcohol on flights as short as this, so instead of getting drunk you’ll have to indulge me. Quiz me,” he snaps his fingers and Lafayette bats them out of the way like he’s a pesky fly he’s trying to get rid of.

“What are Adrienne’s parents’ names?” he asks wearily.

“Jean and Henriette,” Alex shoots back easily.

“Her brothers and sisters?”

“Adrien, Jeanne, Françoise, Anne, Angélique, and Louis,” he says all in a rush. Breathes. That’s a lot of goddamn siblings.

Lafayette makes a noise of approval. “You will be fine, my friend, don’t fear.”

“But what about-”

“ _Non_ ,” Lafayette says sharply. “Alexander, you are a charming young man, my family will see how much I adore you, and will reflect the sentiment. And even if they don’t, which won’t happen, you have my permission to lock yourself in the library and only come out when you are obligated in order to maintain your significant-other duties.” His accent gets thicker as he goes on and Alex can’t help but smile, just a little, through his neves.

He takes a deep breath. “I hate flying,” he admits shakily and Lafayette’s hand closes over his, warm and reassuring.

“I will be right here,” he says lowly, stroking his thumb over Alex’s knuckles.

The flight itself goes pretty smoothly, it’s only an hour so Alex doesn’t really have enough time to work himself into a panic. He probably squeezes Laf’s hand too hard because his friend tries to hide a wince several times but he’s a bit too occupied trying to think nice, happy thoughts that don’t revolve around hurtling towards the ground at hundreds of miles an hour in what is essentially a giant metal bird.

He breathes a sigh of relief when they touch down and his ears pop, scrambling out of his seat once it’s safe to do so and all but legging it off the plane. Lafayette follows behind easily, his long legs keeping up with Alex’s significantly shorter ones. Why he’s surrounded himself by so many tall people is a mystery to him.

They catch a taxi to the big house Lafayette mentioned in Albany, the cab driver shooting Alex an incredulous look when he goes to lift Alex’s suitcase into the trunk and is faced with the weight of several law textbooks dumped on top of his clothes and laptop. Alex winces but doesn’t apologise; he’s got to have _something_ to keep him occupied while Laf is running around doing whatever it is that best men do. Hercules and Cato aren’t coming until the day itself, because it turns out that the week they’re spending at Adrienne’s fiancée’s house is a week of prep and bonding for the two families. They’re hosting the immediate families of each party, alongside the best men and maids of honour. Lafayette tells him that Adrienne has chosen him and her closest sister and that Elizabeth has gone with her own sister and someone else, the guy who introduced her and Adrienne in the first place, which means that practically everyone Alex is going to meet will be pseudo-related to Lafayette in some way.

He’s nervous and buzzing about it, his knees bouncing and his fingers tapping on top of them. He only stops when Lafayette grabs his hands and glares at him, but it’s without heat. Lafayette is probably nervous too, which really doesn’t help to reassure Alex at all.

The taxi ride only takes about twenty minutes, which is twenty minutes of Alex attempting to fidget out of Lafayette’s grip, and the cab driver pointedly does not assist with getting their bags out of the trunk. Alex huffs but hauls his suitcase out, panting a little under the weight of it, and stares up at the house.

It’s not even a goddamn house, it’s a fucking _mansion_ of all things. There’s a huge amount of steps leading up to it, perched on top of a picturesque grassy hill, and Alex almost groans out loud when he realises he’s going to have to carry his bag all the way up those steps. The house itself is a massive red brick and stone affair, staunchly rectangular and kind of boring, with lots of windows complete with cute white shutters and a balcony that runs around the middle floor.

Lafayette flaps his hand. “ _C’est_ Georgian, very old. _Il n’est pas aussi joli que les maisons en France, mais_ …”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Alex murmurs, rolling his eyes. This house is fucking huge, probably furnished to the gills with opulence, and here Laf is complaining that it’s not as nice as the ones in France. Well. Alex doesn’t come from money so he has genuinely no clue or opinion about any of it.

“ _Allons-y_ ,” he says jovially and starts to struggle up the steps. Lafayette chuckles and follows behind him, radiating waves of smug amusement.

“Do you need some help there, _petit lion_?” he calls and Alex grits his teeth.

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” he bites out. “I work out, I can carry this, no problem.”

Lafayette just laughs again, jogging up the steps past Alex and waiting for him at the top with gleeful eyes. Alex glares at him and dumps the suitcase on Laf’s toes, feeling incredibly self satisfied when he yelps.

“Ah, ah,” Lafayette chides, wagging a finger in Alex’s face. Alex leans forward and tries to snap his teeth around it, feral and grinning, and Lafayette laughs brightly. “You’re to be my boyfriend, on your best behaviour, are you not? Give them a good show, Alexander.” He ignores Alex’s glare and beams at him, slapping him hard on the ass and making Alex hiss in pain.

“ _Dépêche-toi!_ ” he calls over his shoulder, walking up to the big brass knocker on the door and banging it soundly. Alex follows diligently and slips his hand into Lafayette’s as they wait, taking a deep breath and settling into the role of Lafayette’s boyfriend for the rest of the week.

And then John opens the door.

“Oh,” Alex says.

“Oh,” John says.

“Hello!” Lafayette joins in happily. “You must be _Monsieur_ Laurens, I am Lafayette, the other best man. This is _mon coeur_ Alexander,” he gestures grandly to Alex, squeezes his hand.

Alex finds himself frozen still, staring at John like a rabbit in the headlights, at his pretty brown eyes and all of his freckles and his hair, which is _short_ now, what the fuck.

“It’s nice to meet you, Alexander,” John says finally, blinking, and reaches a hand out in offering.

Alex is struck dumb by the flash of hurt that rips through him, that John is apparently pretending to not know who he is, choosing to forget all they’ve been through, all the time they spent together. Well fine. If it’s going to be like that, then it’s going to be like that.

He takes John’s hand, briefly, indifferently, and lets go after an acceptable amount of time. “Lauren, was it?” he asks viciously, plastering on a fake smile.

John winces and looks towards his feet. “It’s John, actually. John Laurens,” he mumbles and Alex nor Lafayette get to respond because a blur of a white sundress and blonde hair is streaking towards Lafayette and has thrown itself on top of him. Lafayette lets go of Alex’s hand, leaving him bereft of the only anchor he had in the wake of John’s presence crashing down on him, and spins her around.

“Adrienne!” he cries, happiness evident in his voice. Adrienne squeals and kicks her feet out adorably, holding onto Lafayette as tight as she can.

“Gilbert,” she breathes reverently. “ _Tu m'as manqué, mon amour._ Come,” she says decisively, grabbing Lafayette’s hand and starting to march across the foyer, only stopping when she spots Alex and gasps. Alex waves awkwardly.

“Gilbert, this is the boyfriend you were telling me about?” and Lafayette nods proudly, smiling over at Alex and scrunching up his nose.

“This is Alexander, Adrienne, I know you two will get along like a, how you say? Flaming house?”

“House on fire,” Alex provides flatly, glaring at Lafayette. Adrienne laughs prettily, like a bell, and steps towards Alex to pull him into her arms. She smells clean and fresh, like summer air and sweet flowers, and Alex is instantly charmed.

“Your boyfriend is not fooled by your nonsense, Gilbert,” she raises her eyebrows at them both. “He knows as well as I do that you are perfectly fluent.”

Lafayette comes to stand beside Alex and wrap his arm around his waist. Alex sways into him easily, relaxing into the familiarity of Lafayette’s body. He can’t see John right now and he stubbornly keeps his eyes forward, ignoring John’s presence that lights up like a sparkler in his brain, his body fully aware of exactly where John is even if he can’t see him. It’s uncomfortable, a sensation Alex hasn’t felt in a long time, one that he used to find comforting but now only serves to hurt him.

“I see you have met our John,” Adrienne says and gestures off to the side. Alex’s smile goes tight and he doesn’t turn his head.

“He is the one who brought me and my wonderful Eliza together,” she gushes and John steps forward and bends down to kiss her cheek. Alex’s heart gives a hard thump and he tries not to tense up too much. Lafayette must feel that he’s stressed because he starts rubbing his thumb into Alex’s hip, trying to calm him.

“It was my pleasure,” John says lowly, grinning, and Alex has to look away. His voice, his smile, it’s too much right now. He wasn’t prepared, he isn’t prepared, it’s way too much, too soon.

Adrienne laughs and pushes at John who just keeps smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other in nearly three years. Like they didn’t build a home inside each other and then let it fall to pieces, leaving them standing in the rotten remains, hurt and alone.

“You need to meet Eliza!” Adrienne cries, snapping him out of his introspection. “Come, come, we’re all in the back garden!”

Lafayette bounces after her, dragging Alex behind him, and Alex can’t help the fond smile that passes over his face at his friend’s genuine excitement. He was probably incredibly nervous, Alex now realises, considering he hasn’t seen Adrienne and the majority of her family for quite a while, and has never met Eliza or her family either. Alex is glad that he’s feeling better, back to his usual spirited self, chattering away in French and gesticulating wildly.

“I’ll take the bags upstairs,” John calls and Adrienne shoots him a thankful look. Lafayette laughs and points at Alex.

“Good luck carrying Alexander’s suitcase, he’s packed most of his library in there,” he says and smacks a kiss on Alex’s cheek. Alex feels himself flush, his cheeks getting hot, and he lowers his eyes in embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” John says quietly, so only Alex can hear it. His eyes shoot up, staring at John in surprise, before it morphs into a hard glare. So John’s going to pretend not to know him when there’s other people around but act all buddy-buddy when they’re alone? Screw that.

Alex spins on his heel without dignifying him with a response and follows Lafayette into the spring sunshine.

There’s quite a party going on outside, all of Adrienne’s family easily recognisable by their fair features and the way they all yell and flock to Lafayette like moths to a flame. Lafayette laughs gamely, hugging every one of them as they all talk over each other in rapid French. Alex hovers in the background, smiling openly at how happy Lafayette looks, a radiant sort of bubbliness that shines out of his every pore.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and he spins around only to be greeted with the lovely vision that is Angelica Schuyler. He feels his heart seize in his chest in panic. What the fuck is in the water in Albany that _two_ of his exes are in the same place at once, and that he’ll be spending an entire week with the both of them?

“Alexander,” she says, her smile sharp. “John told me you were here, what a lovely surprise. You’re Lafayette’s plus one, I understand?”

“His boyfriend, yeah,” he replies weakly, shifting on his feet. His eyes dart about, looking for an escape route.

“I must admit, I’m a little surprised at how scared you look right now. Didn’t you know I was going to be here?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, squinting at him in the bright light.

“No?” Alex replies. “Why are you here?”

She blinks at him. “I’m the maid of honour, the sister of the bride.”

“You’re related to Adrienne?” Alex says dumbly.

“No, you idiot,” she rolls her eyes at him. “Eliza is my sister. Eliza Schuyler? I must have mentioned her a hundred times back when we were a thing. Did you not see her name on the invitation? This place is called the Schuyler Mansion, was that not a dead giveaway?”

“To be fair, I was distracted by how nervous I was. Meeting the boyfriend’s family and all, you know,” he laughs nervously, biting his lip. “And I didn’t see the invitation, Laf just said there was a wedding and here we are.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “If I did, then I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have come. Having you _and_ John here is a bit much, you know?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Well you’re shit out of luck because Maria’s going to be here too.”

He almost crumples into a heap in his misery and distress. “Is this some sort of annual meeting of all my exes?” he whimpers, mostly to himself, but Angelica snorts and pinches his arm.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” she chides. “Although, we could start a club. Maybe get t-shirts. ‘I dated Alexander Hamilton and survived’, what do you think?”

He stares at her in abject horror. She laughs and drags him over to two girls, one with dark skin and curly hair like hers and another with shiny black hair and wide intelligent eyes.

“Eliza, Peggy,” Angelica calls. “This is Alex, he’s Lafayette’s boyfriend.” Alex breathes a sigh of relief when she doesn’t mention that they know each other from a fling many years ago, a mistake more than anything, where they both ended up hurt.

“You must be the bride-to-be,” he says and shakes Eliza’s hand, and then Peggy’s.

“I’m the makeup for this whole affair,” Peggy provides and Alex nods, pretending that he knows anything at all about makeup.

“I see you’ve met my beautiful fiancée, soon to be wife,” Adrienne skips up and flings her arms around Eliza, pecking her on the lips. They look so sweet together, Adrienne tall and blonde next to Eliza who is small and dark, both of them pale. Lafayette lopes up and exclaims happily, kissing Eliza on both cheeks and coming to wrap his arms around Alex from behind.

“It is so nice to finally meet you,” he gushes and Eliza smiles warmly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Adrienne’s been more excited for your arrival than the actual wedding,” she says and Adrienne playfully elbows her.

“Only good things I hope,” Lafayette grins and squeezes Alex around the waist.

“If she hasn’t told you anything terrible yet then I can definitely provide an embarrassing story or two,” Alex says conspiratorially, winking at Eliza. Lafayette makes a wounded noise and his hand flies up to twist Alex’s nipple, making him yelp and wriggle against him, trying to get away. Lafayette just keeps twisting and Alex smacks him.

“Cut it out, you know how sensitive I am, oh my god, Laf, _please_ ,” he babbles and Lafayette’s laughter rumbles behind him. This is what he gets for sleeping with his friends, he thinks mournfully. They all know exactly how to take advantage of him.

Of course, it also means he knows exactly how to take advantage of them too. He knows just how much it gets Lafayette going if Alex looks up at him through his eyelashes, or calls him _Sir_. If it’s a game of gay chicken he wants then that’s what he’ll get.

“You guys are too cute,” Eliza says and interrupts his thought process. “I didn’t think significant others were coming until the day of, though?”

Lafayette shrugs. “I hope you don’t mind, I wanted Alexander to meet the family. And I think an extra pair of hands is always helpful, _non_? If you want him out of the way then he can quite happily live in the library and read his books, write his essays, do whatever it is that law students do.” Alex would be offended if that wasn’t so accurate. He’s quite happy to avoid absolutely everyone and bury himself in the library, not emerging until it’s time for the ceremony.

Peggy pouts. “Why didn’t I think of that? Maria could be here.” Eliza rubs her shoulder fondly in consolation.

Angelica just snorts. “I’m glad I don’t have to spend the whole week with Thomas, I think I’d probably murder him.”

“I don’t know why you’re seeing the man if you spend so much time thinking up ways to kill him and get away with it,” Eliza says, shaking her head.

Angelica shrugs. “I’m a law student, it’s natural. Plus Thomas is an asshole, so the desire to kill him is definitely justified.”

Eliza hums. “It seems like John is the only one in our little party without a date,” she says sadly, stroking her fingers absently over Adrienne’s around her waist.

“What do you mean? He has Frances,” Adrienne replies, kissing her bare shoulder. It’s sweet to see, such happy and easy love flowing between them, Alex thinks before his brain catches up with their words.

“John didn’t bring anyone?” he can’t stop himself from asking. He keeps it gender neutral, unsure of whether John has come out yet or not. He doesn’t want to put his foot in it, and he also doesn’t want to allude to the fact that they know each other, since apparently they’re all pretending that this is the first time they’ve ever met.

Angelica shoots him a look, one that tells him he’s not being subtle in his curiosity. Alex ducks his head, a flush of unease spreading through him. He leans back more into Lafayette’s chest, tries to match their breathing to calm himself. It’s been barely ten minutes since they arrived and here he is, on the verge of a panic attack.

“John’s never settled down as long as I’ve known him,” Eliza says, bringing him back to the moment. “He’s the sweetest, kindest man I know, so God knows why he can’t keep a boyfriend to save his life. I imagine his hands a pretty full with Frances though,” she grins.

Alex shoots her a strained smile, nodding. So John _is_ out. _Boyfriend_ , Eliza had said, easy as breathing, as if John dating guys is the most natural thing in the world. And who the fuck is Frances, now he thinks about it? He’s confused and panicking and his heart is going about a hundred miles an hour, and he’s on the verge of starting to tremble. Lafayette notices and leans down, whispers into Alex’s ear.

“Are you okay?” he rubs across Alex’s belly, petting him, like he’s a frightened horse about to bolt. He swallows and nods, trying to get a grip.

“I feel dizzy,” Alex murmurs. He can feel Lafayette nod, some of his flyaway curls brushing Alex’s cheeks gently, and he hums deep and soothing.

“We’ll get you some water,” he says and makes his apologies to their company, leading Alex over to a table that’s got jugs of ice water and what looks like homemade lemonade, little cucumber and salmon sandwiches on platters for the guests to nibble on. Alex gulps down the glass Lafayette presses into his hand and eats the sandwich he’s handed without complaint. He doesn’t really taste it, his mind elsewhere. Elsewhere, as in: wherever John is.

Fuck. This whole thing is a mess and it’s barely even started, and Lafayette doesn’t even _know,_ because Alex just never told him and Lafayette was too polite to question why he was so sad those first few months they knew each other. He’s got to tell him now, though, he can’t go a whole week with this kind of stress gnawing at his insides.

“That went so well,” Lafayette whispers excitedly, curving his body close to Alex’s. “Adrienne thinks you are charming, and the girls seem to like you too. I’m so happy this is working Alexander, I cannot thank you enough.”

Alex smiles tightly. He _can’t_ tell Lafayette.

He takes a deep breath, accepting his dire situation and moving swiftly onwards. “I’m glad,” he says sincerely, pressing a hand to Lafayette’s arm fondly. “Now let’s go meet the rest of the family, I want to see how well my French can hold up around you natives.”

Lafayette grins at him with shining eyes and drags him over to meet the whole brood of Noailles’ who serve as his surrogate family. All of Adrienne’s siblings are pleasant, speaking in halting English with heavy French accents until Alex puts them out of their misery and reveals that he’s fluent. They accept him like he’s a long lost cousin after that, nattering on excitedly, thrusting Jeanne’s baby girl into his arms, enquiring as to whether he grew up in France because he’s so fluent.

“I’m from the Caribbean, actually,” he corrects them gently, bouncing little baby Philippine on his hip. “So I speak French, Spanish, and English, even a little Dutch,” he finishes proudly.

They all make noises of awe. “I thought I couldn’t place your accent!” exclaims Françoise. “I thought maybe you were from the South as you don’t speak like a Parisien.”

Alex laughs shortly, suddenly hyper aware of his accent. He’s tried so hard for so long to smooth it out but it seems like you can’t fool everybody. “I’ve never actually been to France,” he says, trying to move the conversation on.

Everyone gasps. “Lafayette will have to take you, won’t you, Gilbert? A romantic getaway, there is no better place than France for that,” winks Anne, nudging Lafayette in the ribs.

“If I can drag him away from his work, then we shall go,” Lafayette says, kissing his hand. Alex has to stop himself from rolling his eyes too hard. Instead he bats his eyelashes and makes noises of delight, like a good boyfriend, and they all coo happily. Lafayette goes as far as placing a flower he’s plucked from the garden behind Alex’s ear, which makes him wrinkle his nose up in an effort not to sneeze and ruin the moment.

He meets Jean and Henriette, is hopefully generally charming, and shakes the hand of Philip Schuyler. It turns out that the majority of Adrienne’s siblings will be staying in a nearby hotel rather than at the house, which means it’s just the wedding party that’s staying all in one place. Considering he’s not one of the party, had never even met the majority of people spilling out across the lawn, he feels a little out of place, but everyone seems to have simply accepted that he and Lafayette are a package deal, which makes the whole fake-boyfriend thing a bit easier. Alex relaxes into it, munches through a few more sandwiches, holds hands with Lafayette, and very pointedly not think about where John has wandered off to.

He turns up again when Alex is a few minutes into a conversation about economics with Philip Schuyler and Alex surreptitiously follows him with his eyes. The afternoon is hot, the sun high in the sky, and Lafayette had come over and dropped some sunglasses onto Alex’s nose so he’d stop squinting. Thanks to the shades he can pretend to be paying attention to Mr. Schuyler when really he's checking out John.

It’s weird, seeing him. Alex wasn't ready, still isn't ready, absolutely was not prepared to be faced with John again. It’s been so long, long enough that the ache in Alex’s chest has all but disappeared, long enough that he hardly thinks about John anymore, can go weeks without him crossing his mind, and yet here he is, feeling like he's been punched in the gut repeatedly.

John’s wearing washed out jeans and a light sweater, forest green, the type that brings out the olive tones in his skin. His hair has been cut short, the curls licking around his ears and falling across his forehead but no longer tumbling down his shoulders like they used to in college. Alex’s own hair is shorter, he knows, but not as drastically. Back in college he’d been too busy to get his hair cut, too broke too, but now he's got Lafayette to wrangle him into sitting still for a few minutes while he sorts out the split ends. It flows in glossy thick waves to just above his shoulders, long enough that he can throw it up if he wants to and short enough to be vaguely presentable and professional. Why John’s cut his hair so short he doesn't know, because John always loved his long hair, loved braiding it, loved tucking it behind his ears, but to be fair it's been three years and people change. He still smiles the same way though, his wide grin pulling at his cheeks and crinkling up his freckles, just like Alex remembers.

He takes a deep breath and focuses back on Mr. Schuyler, jumping into the conversation with an enthusiasm that seems to surprise the older man. Alex knows his shit though, can talk for the whole of America when he puts his mind to it, and they end up locked in a fervent discussion until Eliza and Lafayette respectively drag them both away.

Alex is starting to feel dead on his feet, swaying into Lafayette, trusting him to keep him upright. It’s been a stressful few hours, from the flight, to John being behind the door, to Angelica turning up, to meeting Lafayette’s family. It’s starting to hit him like a tonne of bricks, his eyelids drooping closed, and he leans more and more into Lafayette. He’s aware of John in his periphery, and his spine tingles every time he catches sight of him, something jolting hard through his chest like an electric shock. He buries his head in Laf’s shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent, and Lafayette runs a hand through his hair and chuckles quietly.

“I think someone needs a nap,” he says jovially and Alex groans and rubs his forehead into Laf’s chest like a cat. “Come on, _amour_ , let’s get you into bed.”

Peggy wolf whistles and Alex rolls his eyes but Lafayette seizes the opportunity to make a show of it, swooping down and swinging Alex into his arms, carrying him across the lawn bridal style. Alex shouts with the indignity of it but everyone’s laughing, cheerfully whistling and yelling French filth. He doesn’t see John, but he knows he’s watching. It makes him duck his head into Lafayette’s neck, hide his face so he doesn’t have to deal with any of it.

Lafayette carries him all the way up the stairs despite Alex’s vehement protests and various attempts to poke him and dumps Alex on what must be their bed for the next week. It’s queen sized, just enough room for two, and considering how tall and gangly Lafayette is Alex is already mourning a proper rest. The room itself is done in tasteful blue hues, pretty panelling running up and down the walls, a window which looks out onto the garden. It’s all old fashioned and grand, lots of wooden furniture and a big oval mirror on the wall, a few paintings of flowers and gardens hung up. Alex gazes at them blankly as Lafayette wrangles off his shoes, only breaking his stare when Laf tickles the bottoms of his feet, making him giggle and kick out.

“Get some rest, Alexander,” Lafayette says, smiling down at him fondly. “I would join you but I want to spend some time with Adrienne and Eliza, you understand.”

Alex nods slowly, starting to sink into the mattress and get comfortable. “Hey,” he says and reaches up to squeeze Lafayette’s hand. “I’m really happy to be here with you.” It’s only half a lie, so it doesn’t really count.

Lafayette smooths his hair off his forehead and presses a kiss there. “ _Dors bien_ ,” he murmurs and walks quietly away, leaving the door open just a little bit behind him.

Alex screws up his eyes, takes deep breaths, and tries not to cry into the pillow.

Okay, so his situation is pretty shit. He’s knee deep in a fake relationship with his best friend for the benefit of said best friend’s pseudo-sister who is getting married to the sister of the girl he had an ill thought out fling with three years ago after the horrible break up with the man who he’d thought was the love of his life, who is also currently here and thus Alex is stuck being around for an entire week. Fuck. What the hell did he do in a past life to warrant such a massive, spectacular screw over in this one?

He punches the pillow and thinks over what he knows. He heard the love story of Adrienne-and-Eliza a hundred times over from various romantic members of Adrienne’s family so he’s pretty well caught up on that and it goes like so: after he and John broke up, John returned to South Carolina for a while, fucked about for a bit, then went to France for some unknown reason. There he met Adrienne, brought her back to America with him, bumped into Angelica who introduced him to the other infamous Schuyler sisters that neither of them actually met throughout the whole of college, and through John did Eliza and Adrienne fall in love. During this time Alex was wallowing in his loneliness and pain and frantically working through law school, getting drunk with Lafayette and having reckless flings with people like Angelica and Maria, which have now come back to bite him in the ass. So that’s nice to know.

He’s glad Eliza and Adrienne are together even though he barely knows them; anyone with two eyes can see how besotted they are with each other. He used to look at John like that, like he’d hung the moon and all the stars, so he knows what that’s like and he’s happy for them, he really is. But did it have to be _John_ that brought them together, of all people? Why has he come hurtling back into Alex’s life after all this time? Why is he _pretending not to know him_ , God, but that hurt like a bitch. That John could just sweep everything that happened under the rug and look at Alex as if he doesn’t know him, as if they didn’t spend two and a half years ridiculously happy together, doting on each other, inseparable. It sends sickening bolts of pain into Alex’s heart, makes all the blood that pumps around his body burn, making tears leak from his sore eyes.

He wipes his face on the pillow, punches it again, and flops over, trying to get comfortable. He ends up on his front, star-fished in the middle of the bed, sniffling into the sheets. He closes his eyes, trying to push everything out of his mind long enough so that he can fall asleep.

It takes a few frustrating minutes but he manages it, slipping under and struggling to keep the memory of John’s various smiles from playing out like a slideshow in his mind.

 

.

 

He wakes up to a curious knocking noise and rolls over squinting his eyes. He’s only really been dozing in that hazy way where everything blurs around you and you can only really hear your heartbeat, and the alarm clock tells him he’s only been out for half an hour, so he stretches languidly and tries to focus his eyes.

There’s a little girl in the doorway, practically a baby, tiny and gazing at him with her fist in her mouth. She’s wearing a white vest and little shorts with red and green lightsabers printed on and her curly hair is done up in two pigtails. She blinks at him with wide brown eyes and tangles her hands in her blanket, which is clutched tightly in her fist like a safety net.

“Papi?” she asks in a small voice and Alex is with it enough to pull himself upright and shake his head.

“I’m not your papi, _niña_ ,” he says, his voice sleepy and slow, but she toddles towards him anyway, dragging the blanket behind her.

“Papi?” she asks again, reaching out towards him. He blinks. Up close he can see she’s got a veritable tonne of freckles, and Alex’s heart starts to hurt.

He shakes his head. “I’m Alexander,” he says, and reaches out to hold her little hand. She’s soft and warm, staring up at him with such trusting eyes, and he sighs, utterly under her adorable spell.

“Let’s go find you papi, okay _querida_?” He stands, still holding her tiny hand, but she throws both arms up and makes grabbing motions.

“Up?” he asks, “You want up?” and she makes little squealing noises in response which he takes as the affirmative. He bends down and scoops her up into his arms, settling her on his hip, and she happily buries her fist in his hair and tugs.

“Ow,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try hard to pull away. She’s more petting than anything, making pretty little sounds of awe, shoving the ends of his hair into her mouth. It’s kind of gross but also kind of cute and he crinkles up his nose at her. She blinks her big soft eyes at him, her eyelashes impossibly long, and makes a grab for his nose, giggling happily.

They make their way downstairs, Alex murmuring nonsense to her in a mixture of languages and her trying to stuff more of his hair into her mouth. He’s not wearing any shoes and he’s still a rumpled mess from his nap but he doesn’t really care what he looks like, what he’s going to look like to all of Lafayette’s family, not when he’s got this tiny girl settled into his side, making grabs for the flower still in his hair laying her head on his shoulder, her soft curls tickling his neck. He’s always loved kids, always wanted kids, and he loves being around them, their sunny innocence and unabashed enthusiasm. This one seems very enthusiastic about his hair which she keeps pulling on, tugging his head this way and that.

They step out into the bright sunshine and Alex readjusts her on his hip, still trying to gently untangle her fist from his hair. “Can someone please claim this _pequeña_ before she pulls all of my hair out,” he calls and half the party on the lawn turn around to smile at him fondly.

And then John steps forward, saying “she’s mine,” and walking across the lawn to them. The little girl cries out for her Papi and flings her arms towards him, reaching out. John easily takes her from Alex, stepping close and lifting her out of his arms, and Alex can smell his cologne, still the same after all these years.

John settles her into his arms, and she babbles away happily in a sweet and silly way that only young children can. He smiles adoringly down at her, his eyes impossibly soft, then turns to Alex.

“It’s why I cut my hair,” he murmurs, gesturing to his short curls. “Frances likes to yank at anything that dangles. She’s like a cat,” he says ruefully.

Alex makes a soft sound. “So this is Frances,” he says slowly, dawning on the realisation.

John’s smile looks strained. “I put her down for a nap, I’m sorry if she woke you up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alex is quick to assure. “She’s lovely.”

And he can see it now, why his heart had clenched when he first saw her up close. She looks so much like John, has his brown skin and freckles, his wide smile and sticky out ears, his pretty brown eyes. Her nose is someone else’s though, little and round, and she has a dimple in her cheek that John lacks. But overall she looks like the spitting image of him, his _daughter_ , a little girl like they always said they wanted.

Alex swallows and looks at his feet for a moment, then back up to them. Frances has her hands pressed to John’s face and he’s trying to kiss at her fingers, making her laugh.

“How old is she?” he asks, unable to stop himself.

“Eighteen months,” John replies quietly. He shifts her in his arms and she swivels her head to look at Alex again. He waves at her, helpless to the immediate smile that tugs at his lips, and he plucks the flower she was so interested in from behind his ear.

“For you,” he murmurs and threads the stem carefully through one of the hair ties holding her pigtails up. She watches him with wide eyes, silent, and he can feel John watching too. He steps back quickly, suddenly uncomfortable, and is unendingly grateful when Lafayette bounds up and presses a wet kiss to his cheek, greeting Frances with grand enthusiasm and making her laugh, and then dragging Alex over to where Adrienne and some of her siblings are gathered.

The grass feels cool on Alex’s bare feet, and he throws himself into conversation with the Naoilles’, but his mind is still stuck on John and Frances. John and his _daughter._  A baby girl, a tiny thing, so small and soft, so utterly perfect. Alex used to murmur his wishes for the future into John’s naked skin, wrapped around each other in bed, and he’d talk about a little girl, one that looked like John, with his freckles and smile. John would argue that he wanted their kids to be Alexander’s, wanted to pass on Alex’s brain, but Alex would refuse, insisting that he wanted John to be the father.

“We’d both be the father,” he remembers John saying, his eyes tired and soft, looking at Alex with such affection and love. Safe in their bed, imagining a future that would never come.

He winces and breathes through the memory, trying not to get too upset, and asks questions about the wedding instead, trying his best to be charming and pleasant, listening to Adrienne ramble and Lafayette interject occasionally, forcing himself to concentrate on what’s important here which is being a good boyfriend for Lafayette, impressing his family, making him feel more comfortable.

He wraps himself around Laf and ignores the awareness settling in the bottom of his spine, the electric current that thrums through him, chanting _John, John, John,_ in the same lovelorn voice as it did all those years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would it be easier to tell Lafayette about John, get it all off his chest so he doesn’t have to hide so much anymore? Yes. Would Lafayette be understanding and support him? Yes. Would Lafayette try to punch John? Probably. Would it make their week spent here more tense and stressful than it already is, what with the wedding and introducing Alex as Lafayette’s boyfriend to his surrogate family when they’re not actually dating? Most likely."

Alex spends the majority of the rest of the evening trying very hard not to stare at John and Frances. It’s incredibly difficult to keep from watching them; Frances because she’s so lovely and happy, running about on her little legs and sticking her nose in all the flowers, getting her hands covered in dirt and wiping it all over her vest, and John because he’s _John_ and it’s been _so long_ and Alex is helpless against the pull of him.

He sticks close to Lafayette, though, because being around Laf reminds him of why he’s here. He’s uneasy and therefore quiet, and he thinks Laf must be picking up on that because he’s been rubbing circles into the small of his back for the past half hour, trying to calm him without drawing attention to it. If Alex had his way he’d be inside right now, locked up in his room or the library, highlighting things in his textbooks or writing an essay in advance. Human interaction is oftentimes too difficult for him, and now is definitely one of those times. He prefers the company of words over actual people. Words can move him, startle him, invoke love and rage and pride, they can let him down or rise him up, but it’s never personal. With words he can avoid the tangled mess of emotions, the confusion and stress that he’s feeling right now. It’s what he wants and needs but can’t have because he made a promise to his friend and he’ll be damned if he backs out now.

John disappears back into the house with Frances, stating that she needs a wash and a change of clothes after her romp around the garden in order to be presentable for the night’s meal. She squeals and giggles as he chases her into the house and up the stairs and Alex’s heart aches, a painful kick in the chest. Everyone seems to take that as a sign they should relocate and, in a typical French manner, many bottles of wine are opened and the party migrates inside. Angelica takes the opportunity to show Lafayette and Alex around the house, guiding them through the sizeable kitchen and dining room, into the various sitting rooms, and eventually towards the library.

Alex feels instantly at home, relieved and relaxed in the best of ways once he’s amongst the stacks. There are big arched windows that let the light filter in and catch all the little dust particles dancing through the air. There’s several large wooden tables with little green lamps on, the kinds you find in actual public libraries, with hard backed chairs dotted about. A plush and worn out armchair sits near one window and a sofa stretches out near it with a small stack of what looks like children’s books piled on the floor adjacent. The bookcases themselves are brimming with texts, old and new, and Alex disentangles himself from Lafayette in order to trail his fingers across the spines slowly. They seem to be organised by theme: poetry, history, fiction, and, of course, law.

“You’re welcome to peruse our books,” Angelica calls from somewhere in the room. Alex can’t see her because he’s too busy getting lost between the bookcases. “I refer to the law books in here all the time for my studies,” she continues.

Lafayette chuckles. “Don’t get him started or he will never stop,” he says, fond. “ _Mon petit lion_ prefers books to people, _qu'il est mignon_.”

Alex snorts. Lafayette knows him too well.

“If I take you up on your offer of the law books you’ll never get rid of me,” he warns.

“We’ll just have to form our own law firm then, won’t we,” comes Angelica’s voice.

“Hamilton and Schuyler,” he muses, rolling the names off his tongue.

“I think you mean Schuyler and Hamilton,” her sharp reprimand comes and he laughs, thinking about it for all of a second before agreeing.

“You’re right, that does sound better.” He thinks if he could see Angelica she’d be flipping her hair in victory and he smiles, a small thing but a smile nonetheless.

He’s loathe to leave the library but Angelica shoos them out, citing a need for the two families to mingle and bond. Alex privately thinks that she means that both families need to get rip-roaringly drunk in order to bind them together in mutual embarrassment for the rest of their lives. God knows Lafayette gets totally out of hand when he’s inebriated so there won’t be any problems there.

They order pizza, tonnes of it, and it’s a huge free for all on the table top as everyone fights for the best slices. Alex chooses the hottest slice he can get his hands on, loaded with chilli and spicy sauce, happily munching through it as Lafayette makes a disgusted face at him and eats his ham and pineapple. John has Frances perched on his knee, her dressed in cute little purple dungarees and a blue t-shirt with dolphins on, and he’s cutting up a slice of extra cheesy pizza into little pieces so she can eat them. She gets grease all over her fingers and mouth and John seems to spend more time wiping her down than actually eating anything. Alex surreptitiously nudges the pizza with the most black olives and onions in John’s direction and watches with satisfaction as John finally digs in.

The night is loud and boisterous, the Schuyler sisters a force to be reckoned with even when presented with a half a dozen French siblings all trying to talk over each other. Jeanne puts baby Phillippine down at around six, earlier than Frances because she’s younger, but Frances starts to wilt at around seven thirty anyway and John disappears upstairs to put her to bed, returning half an hour later with a baby monitor and collapsing on the couch. Eliza smooths his curls down with her hand and he leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed. Alex has to turn away for a moment, his heart in his throat, almost drowning in the memories of all the times he was the one to do that for John.

Despite his nap earlier, Alex still feels tired, the weight of the day’s ups and downs crushing him. All he wants to do is curl up next to Lafayette but his friend is well on his way to becoming utterly smashed and is leading Adrienne around the room in a terrible waltz. Alex winces for her toes; Lafayette is definitely not the world’s best dancer. He burrows himself into a large armchair, letting the cushions swallow him, and watches fondly as Lafayette’s dancing gets increasingly worse as he drinks more and more. Alex himself has been sticking to juice the entire night, something within him telling him that it’s not a great idea for him to be drunk right now.

He can see John crack a beer open in the corner of his eye and observes how a flush rises on his cheeks as he drinks, his freckles standing out more and more. Alex used to be able to tell when John had had too much just by the state of his skin and he’d gently lead John home and make sure he didn’t punch anything or anyone on the way. Now, Eliza holds his hand and stops him from spilling his beer right down his front, making sure he’s on the right side of tipsy. John never could hold his drink.

Some latin music comes on and Lafayette immediately whirls around and points at Alex, trying to coax him onto the hastily crafted dance floor in the middle of the room. Alex shakes his head, completely unwilling to get his feet mangled by Lafayette as he tries to salsa, which has happened one too many times.

“Come on!” Lafayette whines, trying to drag Alex up from his chair. Alex resists as best as he can but ends up laughingly following Laf onto the floor, batting his hands away when he tries to get into leading position. Alex knows from experience that his feet stand no chance if Lafayette leads so he ignores his friend’s pout and counts them in.

He’s rusty but he’s still got it, years of attending couples dance classes with John kicking his muscle memory into gear as he dances across the floor. Lafayette laughs loudly and hold on as Alex spins him, placing his hands on his hips when he comes back to try and get them to move in the proper way. Lafayette’s hips definitely have moves in other circumstances but dancing the salsa is not one of them.

Adrienne drags Eliza up and tries to follow Alex’s lead but they end up grinding on the dance floor much to everyone’s amusement. Their parents cite this as a sign that it’s time for them to leave the party and Lafayette throws his head back and drags Alex closer, rubbing himself all over him as Alex swats his hands away from his ass.

“Enjoy yourself, Alexander,” he whispers into Alex’s ear, his voice low and dark. Alex’s mind flits to John, aware that he’s in the room and can probably see them, pressed together like this, and he tenses up. Lafayette slides his hand into Alex’s hair, pulls sharply on the roots, and Alex moans.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, close and low. “ _Amusons-nous, oui?_ ” and Alex closes his eyes and lets Lafayette circle their hips together, pressing his face into Lafayette’s neck and ignoring everything but the feel of Lafayette against him and the beat of the music.

It’s not enough though, his brain is still hurtling at a million miles an hour and pressing painfully against his skull so he kisses Lafayette’s neck and takes him by the hand to lead him out of the room.

Adrienne whistles after them and Alex ignores it, dragging Lafayette into the corridor outside the sitting room and letting the door close behind them, muffling the noise of the party.

“Are you okay?” Laf asks, his accent thick. His pupils are dilated, big and dark, and his skin is shining just slightly with sweat. “Do you want this?”

Alex thinks about it, thinks about how easy it would be to get fucked by Lafayette, how it would take his mind off other things, take the edge off, help relax him. He thinks about Lafayette holding him down, maybe smacking him about a bit, choking on his cock in his throat or up his ass, how good it would feel to not be in control just for a little bit. He thinks about waking up the next day with bruises from Lafayette’s hands and mouth and seeing John, seeing _Frances_ , and cringes back into the wall.

Lafayette sighs and crowds into him, cupping Alex’s cheek and running a hand gently through his hair. “You do not want this,” he says and Alex blinks up at him with wet eyes.

“That’s not true,” he says in a wobbly voice. “I want you.”

“Not right now, you don’t,” Lafayette tugs on his hair just a little. Alex whines and arches his back, trying to get Lafayette closer but not putting a lot of effort into it. Laf shushes him and presses him further into the wall, pinning him down. He leans in close.

“I want you too, Alex,” he whispers, his lips inches from Alex’s. Stubbornly, he reaches up on his tiptoes and sucks on Lafayette’s bottom lip, biting at it, trying to get Laf to give in. Laf groans and moves his mouth against Alex’s briefly, flicks his tongue against the seam of Alex’s lips in a tease. Alex whimpers and opens his mouth and Lafayette licks into it, hot and dirty, fucking his tongue against Alex’s in a crude approximation of what his hips can do.

The sound of the party spills loudly out of the door as it’s opened for a second but they both ignore it. Alex sinks back into the wall, limp, letting Lafayette take whatever he wants, but his friend pulls back and looks down at him with a frown.

“You don’t want this,” he whispers again, his eyes kind and soft. “I am drunk but I am not that drunk. We should go to bed, I think. Talk in the morning. Now you need to rest.”

Alex sniffs wetly. “How can I rest when your gangly legs are gonna be kicking me all night,” he mutters and Lafayette tugs on his hair again. Alex whines and pouts at him and Lafayette chuckles, leading Alex by the hand up to their room and telling him to get changed while he says goodnight to Adrienne.

“Make sure to tell her I had a great time,” Alex pleads, “And that it was nice meeting her.”

Lafayette rolls his eyes. “You’ll see her tomorrow at breakfast, there is no need to be saying goodbye’s.”

“It’s not a goodbye, it’s polite,” Alex shoots back, glaring.

Lafayette snorts inelegantly. “Since when have you ever been polite, Alexander?”

“Since I became the best boyfriend in the world,” he replies primly. Lafayette’s face breaks into a smile and he presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead.

“And I thank you for that,” he says, and leaves the room.

Alex flops back onto the bed, exhausted. He’s so utterly glad that Lafayette hadn’t let him take that any further; he’s convinced now that it would have been a disaster. Lafayette is such a good friend to him, has always been a good friend to him, and Alex resolves to do his utmost to be the best friend he can right back. Lafayette deserves more from him than Alex having a breakdown because his ex is unexpectedly in attendance at this wedding. Well, more than one ex, but Angelica is ironically a lot easier to deal with than John, and Maria isn’t even here yet. He hopes fervently that that’s it on the ex front. He hasn’t dated a whole lot of people but every time it’s turned out to be a complete catastrophe and he’d hate for even more stress to be piled onto him, and therefore Lafayette, over the duration of this week.

He shakes his head and pulls of his shirt and pants, rummaging around his suitcase until he finds the worn out t-shirt he uses to sleep in and some socks. He tugs them on and grabs his toothbrush, pads over to the bathroom to tiredly brush his teeth, and then crawls into bed. He closes his eyes and curls up, barely moving even when he hears Lafayette return, start his nightly routine, and then climb into bed next to Alex. He’s smart enough to know that from Alex’s position facing away and curled up on his side that he doesn’t want to be touched right now and doesn’t seem to take any offence, whispering a genial good night wish into the dark and almost immediately dropping off, his breath whistling quietly through his teeth in an adorable approximation of a snore.

Alex spends the next hour or so trying to get his mind to shut up long enough for him to relax. He rubs his face into the pillow, cuddles the blanket up to his chin, but it doesn’t work. Part of his brain is spouting random memorised chunks of legal text at him while another part is singing a stupidly inappropriate songs, _you are my peach, you are my plum, it’s just so hard to see tomorrow past tonight_ , and he almost screams in frustration.

A big part of his brain is circling old memories and projecting them in his mind like it’s a movie theatre, reels of John smiling and laughing, holding his hand, under Alex and on top of Alex; the messages he’d leave in the steam on the mirror in the bathroom, the way he’d tie his hair up sloppily before making food; him stretched lazily out on the sofa with a book in hand, him doing pull ups on the fire escape and grinning when Alex yells at him for being irresponsible; him in the soft light of the library late in the evening, the laptop casting a pale blue glow over his skin, smiling tiredly at Alex over the top of the screen; John dancing with him in their kitchen, in clubs, in salsa classes, twirling and spinning around on the street as the snow falls down; John pressing his forehead to Alex’s, murmuring pretty words into his skin, leaving marks; John kissing his nose; John’s sleepy eyes in the morning; John moaning and arching his back: John, John, John.

He falls into a fitful sleep, waking up over and over and turning to glare blearily at the clock as the numbers turn. It’s unsatisfying and makes him grit his teeth, burrow into the sheets further until he can’t breath. Scream into the pillow. Check to make sure he hasn’t woken Lafayette up. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

He hears a creaking noise at around three A.M., and he abandons his attempt at sleep to drag himself out of bed and check it out. Frances stands in the middle of the corridor, rubbing at her eyes, and Alex melts.

“What are you doing up, _chiquita_?” he whispers, tiptoeing over to her and kneeling down. Her curly hair is wild around her head and she’s blinking slowly, still half asleep, barely functioning in the same way that John always has whenever he woke up.

“Bathroom,” she says thickly, then points down the hallway. “ _Agua_.”

“I can take you to the bathroom,” Alex says and she walks on slow legs to the appropriate room, letting Alex open the door for her and staring at him until he turns politely around. She mumbles to herself as she goes about her business, sweet little burbling noises that don’t mean anything, but she seems pretty into it, as if she’s holding a conversation with herself.

She tugs on his boxers once she’s done and he obediently flushes the toilet for her and picks her up so she can wash her hands.

“What now?” he says, passing her a small towel. “ _Agua_?”

She nods and skips out of the bathroom, seemingly more awake now, and sits on the top of the stairs. Alex blinks at her. She wriggles her bum and pats the space next to her and he almost laughs when he realises what she wants him to do. Together, they shuffle down the steps, feet bum, feet bum, feet bum, until they reach the bottom safely. He swings her up into his arms and heads towards the kitchen, fumbling around in the dark for the light switch.

They both squint when the lights come on, too bright, and Frances buries her head in his shoulder. He murmurs soothing nonsense to her absently and fumbles his way around the unfamiliar kitchen, looking for glasses and trying not to make too much noise lest he wakes someone up.

“You gonna drink out of a glass?” he asks her, preoccupied with opening cupboards. “Do you have a sippy cup of your own?”

She gurgles and points towards the sink and he spies an orange sippy cup with little stars printed on it and smiles. He places her down on the counter, keeping a hand on her waist so she doesn’t wriggle off, and turns the tap on, sticking his finger under it to make sure it’s not too cold.

He passes her the cup once it’s full and the top is screwed on tightly and takes a glass from the sink for himself, washing it out and filling it with cold water. She watches him take a sip before she does the same and he smiles at her around the rim of the glass, watching her happily gulp down the water and kick her feet.

She’s warm under his palm and his hand can wrap pretty easily around her waist and he’s once again taken aback by how tiny she is. Eighteen months old isn’t quite a baby and isn’t quite a toddler, still in that sort of cute and chubby stage, starting to run about and cause mayhem but not really talking all that much. Alex remembers the kids from his home town, all the small children who would squat next to the sidewalk and run alongside them when they raced their bikes down the beach. They were skinnier than Frances, gaunt looking, but just as happy.

His heart thumps hard in his chest as he gazes at her, so soft and trusting. He imagines she looks a lot like John when he was a baby, but he’s never seen any pictures. He’d never met John’s family and from what he’d picked up Henry Laurens doesn’t seem like the type of man to break out the baby photos at any time, let alone to show his son’s boyfriend. A sharp stab of pain pierces his chest and he breathes through it, downing the rest of the water and putting the glass down so he can play with Frances’ hair.

She gets about halfway through the cup before she seems done with it, abandoning it on the counter and making grabby gestures at Alex to pick her back up. He settles her on his hip and tips the rest of the water down the sink, then goes to leave the kitchen. Frances makes a screeching sound of protest and he winces, the noise too close to his ear to be anywhere near pleasant.

“What’s wrong _ni_ _ñ_ _a_?” he rubs over her back and she points at the sink again.

“Papi,” she states. Then, “ _Agua_.”

He looks between her and the sink in confusion. “I’m not your Papi, I’m Alexander. You want some more water?” he asks.

She shakes her head, her curls flying. “Papi, _agua_ ,” she repeats.

“Oh,” he says, the gears in his mind grinding slowly to a realisation. “You want to take some water to your Papi, okay, we can do that,” he babbles and fills up another glass of water, readjusts her on his hip, and carries them both up the stairs, trying to squash down the nerves that flutter in his chest like hundreds of trapped wings.

“Where’s your Papi?” he whispers and she peers anxiously down the corridor. He waits patiently but she doesn’t seem to be able to point to which door John is behind. He frowns and puts her down, thinking that perhaps if she’s on a more familiar point of view she’ll be able to remember which door it is. Luckily, his logic seems to be right, because she bounds down the corridor and stops at a door, looking back at Alex. He follows at a more sedate pace and once he reaches her she flings her hands up, eyes on the glass, and he carefully presses it into her hands, making sure they’re both wrapped around it fully so it won’t spill before letting go.

He knocks on the door, softly, and bites his lip as he waits for John to open it. Nothing happens though, and Frances blinks up at him.

“Again,” she demands, wrinkling her nose up. He stifles a laugh and knocks again, louder this time, and steps back when he hears slow footsteps approaching.

John opens the door, rubbing at his eyes in the exact same way as Frances had earlier, half-asleep and confused. “Alex?” he says, and his voice is rough. Alex swallows, looking away from him and his rumpled sleep state, and nudges Frances forward.

“Papi,” she says, lifting the glass in John’s direction. “ _Agua_.”

“Oh, hey, baby girl,” John drops to his knees immediately and accepts the glass of water, smiling at his daughter softly and smoothing a curl behind her ear. “Is it time for our three A.M.  _agua_ break?”

Alex shifts on his feet. “She’s already had hers,” he provides quietly. “We went down to the kitchen and she had it out of her sippy cup, I hope that’s okay.”

John looks at him for a moment, unreadable, before he gives him a weak smile. “Of course,” he murmurs. “I hope she didn’t wake you up. She’s taken to climbing out of her cot and wandering around wherever she likes, creating a racket.”

“No, no,” Alex is quick to assure, “I was already awake.”

John frowns at him, his eyebrows pulling together, but Frances pulls on his shirt and distracts him. He takes a long drink of the water and makes an exaggerated pleased noise and Frances giggles, leaning into his chest. John rubs up and down her back, his broad palm easily spanning across it, and Alex can’t seem to look away. He hums, closes his eyes, seemingly happy to fall asleep right there on the floor with Frances in his arms. Alex feels suddenly uncomfortable, out of place, like he doesn’t have a space here, and he _doesn’t_. This is John’s baby girl, his daughter, his family, without Alex.

“I’ll just,” he says awkwardly and John peels his eyes open to look up at him. “Get back to bed,” he finishes, biting his lip. John nods slowly, takes another sip of water, carries on rubbing Frances’ back.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs and Alex doesn’t waste any time bolting out of there, turning on his heel and hurrying back into his room.

He leans against the door, breathing slowly, trying to slow down his racing heart. If he strains his ears he can hear John’s voice rumbling something to Frances and his footsteps down the corridor, probably returning her to her cot, the click of another door shutting, and then silence. His shoulders slump, disappointment creeping into his heart for some unknown reason, and he tries to shake it off while climbing back into bed. Lafayette grumbles into the pillows and flops over, trapping Alex under his arm, and Alex goes with it, more than happy to be dragged into aggressive cuddles with his friend, burrowing into Lafayette’s warmth and trying to copy his breathing.

It’s not any easier to fall into sleep but he manages it, stubbornly hiding his face in Lafayette’s chest and squeezing his eyes shut until his body cooperates. _It’ll be easier in the morning_ , he tells himself, over and over. _It’ll get easier_.

 

.

 

He’s proved both wrong and right once the morning actually comes. For a few brief seconds his brain is blissfully blank, relaxed and happy, and then his short term memory kicks into gear and it’s like being punched in the gut. His eyes fly open and he tenses up all over. Lafayette whines, pawing at Alex’s hip, trying to get him to soften back into sleep but Alex won’t have it.

“Wake up,” he hisses and pinches Lafayette’s arm. “I am not facing your family alone, wake the fuck up, French fry.”

Lafayette groans and peels one eye open to glare at him. “ _Ta gueule_ ,” he grumbles and Alex rolls his eyes and pokes him harshly.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he chants and pokes Lafayette again, over and over.

Lafayette rolls away and moans into the pillow before he seems to resign himself to his fate. “ _C’est des conneries,_ ” he grumbles and drags himself out of bed. Alex follows him, humming obnoxiously, and Lafayette glares at him in the mirror as they brush their teeth.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Alex grins through the foam in his mouth and Lafayette spits aggressively into the sink and flips him off, stripping and stepping into the shower.

Alex takes pity on him and fetches him a towel, one for his body and one for his hair, and Lafayette reemerges about three badly sung pop tunes later with his hair wrapped up and a small smile on his face.

“Next time we should save some water, shower together,” he muses, winking at Alex. He rolls his eyes and brushes past Lafayette to get to the bathroom and Lafayette smacks him on the ass, laughing as he yelps, his mood seemingly uplifted by the combination of hot water and teasing Alex.

Everyone gathers downstairs for breakfast, some people looking more green around the gills than others. The party seemed to go on for some time after Alex and Lafayette went to bed, with Adrienne’s siblings returning to their hotel in the early hours of the morning. The parents seem the cheeriest, loudly chattering through the meal while everyone else groans through their headaches. Peggy glares at anyone who comes near her plate of waffles and Angelica downs what looks like an entire pint of milk in her misery. Frances babbles happily, mashing cut up pieces of banana and strawberries into her mouth. Alex lets the noise wash over him, taking a minute to realign himself with the reality of being here, faking a relationship with Lafayette while John sits a few metres away with his daughter.

“What’s on the menu for today?” Lafayette asks once most of the table has been cleared of food and everyone seems more awake. He’s cradling a cup of coffee between his palms, sipping from it only occasionally. He’s filled Alex’s own cup up several times, knowing that Alex needs several doses of caffeine running through his veins in order to kick start the day. Lafayette may not be the easiest person to wake up but once he’s awake that’s it; he doesn’t need coffee or tea or even orange juice to prepare him for the day.

“We’re going to the tailors, we need to make sure everything fits before the big day,” says Eliza. “We can split travel between our cars and John’s to make sure everyone gets a lift.”

“You drove here?” Alex asks incredulously before he can stop himself, looking over at John.

John furrows his brows. “Yes?”

“That must have taken, like, twelve hours, why didn’t you just fly over?”

Eliza makes a weird noise. “What do you mean? John lives in New York, it only takes about two hours to get here.”

Alex blinks in surprise. “You live in New York?” he asks in a small voice and John nods slowly, his eyes unreadable.

“Where did you think he lived?” Adrienne asks in confusion.

“I…” Alex searches for the right thing to say without revealing that he knows John. “I assumed South Carolina,” he winces as it comes out of his mouth. Angelica raises her brows at him from across the table and he cringes harder.

“Why South Carolina?” Lafayette asks, innocent to the tension in Alex’s body.

“Um,” Alex starts, his brain working frantically. “Son of Senator Laurens, right? So I assumed he’d live in South Carolina,” he mumbles. It’s better than saying: _He told me he was going back to South Carolina when we broke up, he told me he couldn’t stay in New York, we haven’t talked in three years so excuse me for being a little behind on the life and times of John Laurens, who apparently has a daughter now and lives in New York City._

Eliza hums, oblivious to his discomfort. “John works at the orphanage with me,” she provides. “We basically run it together, don’t we?” and she shoots him a silly smile.

“We’re the dream team,” he replies and smiles back, but something about it looks off.

“Excuse me,” huffs Peggy. “And me, I’m part of the team.”

“Of course, and Peggy. She’s helping us set up a women’s shelter,” Eliza tells him and Alex makes a sound of interest, filing a note in his brain to talk to Peggy more. She’d said makeup yesterday and he’d assumed she was some kind of beauty technician but it seems she’s more than that.

“That’s very commendable,” Alex says, averting his eyes from John and smiling at the youngest Schuyler sister instead.

“My girls are all commendable,” Mr. Schuyler says proudly and they all blush, each making various noises of embarrassment.

“I just realised, you’re the only one of our party not getting a suit tailored,” Eliza suddenly says, her eyes wide and worried.

“I have a suit already,” he assures her.

“Our friend Hercules is a very good tailor indeed,” interjects Lafayette, looking proud. “He manages to make even Alexander look presentable.”

“Hey,” Alex pinches him and Lafayette grins at him cheekily, pressing a kiss to his hair in apology.

“That’s good,” Eliza says, “But you’ll still be alone most of the day.”

Lafayette rolls his eyes, good natured. “Just the way Alex likes it,” he teases.

“Hey,” Alex protests again and Lafayette throws his head back in laughter.

“Don’t deny it, _mon amour_ , I can see you are practically drooling at the thought of being in the library all day, surrounded by your law books. I fear that if I leave him to his own devices for too long he will never emerge,” he directs this to the table as a whole. “I have to check up on him every few hours to make sure he hasn’t turned into a hermit,” he giggles, “Or that creature from that one movie, what’s it called? It has a ring.”

“ _Lord of the Rings_ ,” Angelica provides, amused, and Lafayette snaps his fingers.

“Yes! Except the precious things are Alexander’s laptop and his books,” he laughs. Alex pretends to huff and be mad until Lafayette tickles his side and he drops the act to laugh along with him.

“As long as you’re happy,” Eliza says sweetly and Alex scrunches up his nose at her.

They clear up the table and John swings Frances into his arms and takes her upstairs to get dressed and Alex downs another cup of coffee, wiping his mouth and absently kissing Lafayette on the cheek as he passes him to get out into the corridor.

Angelica grabs his arm and links them together, smiling smugly at him. “That was smooth,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

Alex closes his eyes and groans. “That was a car crash,” he corrects her. “I felt like I was perjuring myself, lying to everyone like that. Why John feels the need to pretend we don’t know each other is a mystery to me.”

Angelica just hums, eyes narrowed. “Maybe he thought it’d save everyone a bit of stress, stop them from having to tiptoe around the two of you.”

“What about the stress this is causing me?” he cries. “Do you know how stressed I am right now? This is worse than final exams, this is worse than when I have to hand in five essays on one day, this is worse than-”

“Okay, I get it, you’re stressed,” Angelica rolls her eyes at him. “There’s nothing you can do about it now,” she continues.

Alex’s shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m totally fucked.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” she orders. “You’ve got an entire day by yourself to sort this out so use that big brain of yours and stop whining.”

Alex blinks at her, his spine straightening automatically. Her voice was sharp but her eyes look troubled and he turns to her, halting their slow walk up the stairs.

“I know we’ve not talked since…” he starts and she takes a deep breath.

“We don’t _have_ to talk about it, Alex,” she reminds him. “We already know why it didn’t work out, and he’s standing somewhere in this house right now.”

“It was too soon after, I wasn’t ready,” he continues even though she’s already told him, more or less, that it’s okay.

“I know, I know,” she shushes him. “It was a stupid mistake. I’d waited so long, building you up in my head, and once you and John broke up I thought that was my chance. But I was wrong, it was too soon, you weren’t over him.” She looks at him with gentle eyes. “I still don’t think you’re fully over him.”

He swallows and lowers his eyes, not willing to make eye contact right now. She shuffles closer, starts petting his arm to soothe him.

“We weren’t right for each other, Alexander. We couldn’t satisfy each other, we weren’t what the other wanted. It’s been a long time, there’s no hard feelings there anymore. I was upset for a while but now I know you were right to end it. It wasn’t going anywhere, it wasn’t healthy, we weren’t happy. We both deserved more.” She tilts his head up and he looks up at her through blurry eyes, inexplicably wet. She smiles at him, small and gentle, in a way that softens her whole face, so different from her usual hard demeanour.

“I deserve the kind of love that you and John had,” she says slowly. “And so do you.”

“I have Lafayette,” he says numbly, his heart hurting.

She blinks at him, leaning back like she’s forgotten Lafayette even existed. “You’re happy with him?” she asks.

“I love him,” he answers truthfully. “He makes me happy.”

“He makes you as happy as John did?”

He yanks himself out of her grip, suddenly defensive and angry. “What’s with the third degree? I’m happy with Lafayette, we love each other, and we have no problem showing it. John didn’t always make me happy, we weren’t always happy, that’s why we broke up and you know it. At least Lafayette is _open_ about his feelings for me, which is more than I can say for John,” he spits.

Angelica reels backwards, holding her hands up like a surrender. “I’m sorry,” she says, sounding contrite. “I didn’t mean to imply anything bad about Lafayette, he seems like a good man.”

He sniffs at her, wary, and she glares at him. “Don’t be so childish, Alexander,” she chides and he sticks his tongue out at her. She rolls her eyes and links their arms back together, starting their slow ascent up the stairs again.

“Does Lafayette know about John?” she asks, her voice careful.

Alex frowns, unable to come up with a decent lie. “No,” he admits slowly. “And he’s not going to,” he tells her. “He’s stressed enough right now without dumping my drama on top of it.”

“But you’re stressed too,” Angelica reminds him lightly. “Isn’t it best to talk about these things with people you love, so they have all the facts, and so they don’t inadvertently hurt you?”

He frowns again, turning towards her when they reach the top of the stairs. “Thanks for the relationship advice, but I think I know what I’m doing,” he says, avoiding agreeing or disagreeing with her. She narrows his eyes at him, a student of law herself and therefore wily to his tactics, and he stares her down, unwilling to act like the guilty party.

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs and starts up the next set of stairs to the attic where all three Schuyler sisters are staying. He watches her go, his mind loud and whirring in his head, several different trains of thought vying for attention.

Would it be easier to tell Lafayette about John, get it all off his chest so he doesn’t have to hide so much anymore? Yes. Would Lafayette be understanding and support him? Yes. Would Lafayette try to punch John? Probably. Would it make their week spent here more tense and stressful than it already is, what with the wedding and introducing Alex as Lafayette’s boyfriend to his surrogate family when they’re not actually dating? Most likely.

So Alex comes to the conclusion that it’s best to keep his mouth shut on this one matter, for once in his life, and turns into their bedroom to get properly dressed for the day.

 

.

 

Time actually passes pretty quickly, for him. He sets up shop in the library and busts out the highlighters, going to town on his text books and making himself flashcards. He has several tabs open on his laptop and more than a few Word documents to juggle between, trying to decide which article is most likely to get published in the college paper. He sends them all in the end, anyway, because even though Burr will only publish his “less aggressive and angry” ones at least they’ll have the option to choose.

He also indulges a little bit and pops in his headphones, chooses a stream of podcasts and lets himself get sucked into the story for a little while. It’s nice, the voices so close to his ear drums that he has no choice but to listen to them, and it makes his mind go blank for just a little bit, just enough time that his heart beat slows down and his eyes start to feel heavy.

He tries not to think about how this is a habit borne out of a want to be close to John. Before they started dating, when they were just roommates in college who were maybe a touch too affectionate with each other to be called fully platonic, John used to offer an earbud to Alex and they’d sit in silence and listen to podcasts together. Alex hated it to begin with, hated how it distracted him from his work, how he felt that he couldn’t multitask with something playing in the background, couldn’t focus and get his work done. But he stuck with it because John would be there, their shoulders brushing occasionally, John close enough to smell. He’d make little humming noises in the back of his throat in response to whatever was being said in the podcast, he’d laugh at all the jokes and huff short breaths when the subject made him angry, and Alex would sit and listen, one ear half on the podcast and the other on John.

It became habit, even when they were together and didn’t need the excuse to be close, even after John left and Alex didn’t have anyone to share it with anymore. Now it’s something he enjoys that isn’t work that he allows himself, an indulgence, something that takes his mind off everything else so that he can take a break. He and John had been working their way through _Desert Island Discs_ , but he started on new things after the break up, after Lafayette forced him back into being a functioning person again.

He’s worked his way through _Criminal_ , _#BadMuslimGoodMuslim_ , the majority of _Welcome to Night Vale_ before he lost the thread of it, and _Planet Money_ for a throwback to his economics classes. The episodes are generally short and they let him take a little break while not making him feel like he’s wasting his time, something that is pretty much a one in a million miracle. Sometimes even taking a break to have sex felt like a waste for him, and he’d work himself sick trying to catch up on lost time, trying to prove to some unknown judge that he wasn’t throwing away his shot, that he was worth it, that he could _do_ something with his life.

He’s listening to _Snap Judgement_ , something he’s been saving up for a rainy day because he just _knows_ it’s going to be good, and he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the table. The library is silent but for him, he’s all alone in the house, and he feels like he could let out all his emotions right now and no one would be the wiser. He could scream, maybe. But he’s a mature and responsible adult and he’s not going to make a fool out of himself, even if he desperately wants to.

Being exposed to John, being bombarded with memories of him and their time together, is making him fray at the edges, come undone just a little. His heart feels like it’s being slowly shattered, like his ribs have stopped protecting it and are instead sinking jagged pieces of bone straight through the flesh as it struggles to carry on pumping blood around his body, trying to keep him breathing and standing, alive. It hurts and it hurts and it just keeps on hurting and he doesn’t know how he’s going to last the whole week like this.

He exhales heavily and blinks once the podcast reaches the conclusion, wiping his eyes. He throws his hair up into a halfway bun, keeping it out of his eyes and tucking the rest behind his ears, and clicks his pen rapidly to try and get back on track with his revision. Their Spring Break is only a week and he’s spending all of it here with Laf and as much as he wants to be the supportive fake boyfriend and spend time with Lafayette and his family, he also knows that he needs to cram as much as he can in order to not be lagging behind once classes start back up again, to stay on top and graduate into a great internship, to become the lawyer and upholder of justice he’s always strived towards being.

He takes Angelica up on her offer of using the law books in their library and ends up with an inelegant pile of texts strewn around him on the table, open on seemingly random pages with sticky notes peeking out from between the pages in an attempt to not scrawl all over books that aren’t his own. He has no qualms about writing in his own books; he paid ridiculous amounts of money for these things and he’s going to wring them for every drop of knowledge they can offer him. But writing on other people’s books makes his gut clench a little, absurdly, at the wrongness of it.

He gets so sucked into his work that he doesn’t hear the rumble of the cars arriving back in the driveway, or the chatter of people flooding back through the house, or even the pitter patter of little feet stampeding their way over to him. He looks up, though, when someone flings themselves into the side of his leg and clings on, babbling bright and happy. Frances is grinning up at him, digging her fingers into his calves and giggling. He softens immediately, all thoughts of his work abandoned.

“Well, hey, _ni_ _ñ_ _a_ , what have you been up to?” he asks even though he knows she can’t really answer and reaches down for her, pulling her into his lap. She immediately fists a hand into the shorter strands of hair at the back of his neck, the ones that don’t ever quite stay up in his bun, and he winces just a little.

“Did you try on your dress? I bet you looked _belleza_ , like a _princesita_ , all dressed up,” he murmurs nonsense as he bounces her on his knee and she squeals happily. Her freckles crinkle up like John’s do and it both hurts his heart and warms it, the combination settling into a steady ache of longing.

“You’re gonna be the best flower girl in the world, I can just tell, _florecita_ , you’ll blow them all away,” he continues and laughs when she tries to grab his nose, leaning in and pretending to munch on her fingers.

He can’t help all the terms of endearment that flow of his tongue, the affection that permeates every word, even though he barely knows her. She’s _John’s_ therefore she’s _perfect_ and he stupidly loves every bit of her, from the top of her curly head to her teeny tiny toes. It’s ridiculous and painful and wonderful all at once and he knows somewhere deep down that he’ll probably not see her again after this week, at least not often, and it sends stabs of hurt into his heartbeat. He ignores it and continues to play with her, her delighted peals of laughter filling up the previously stagnant air in the library, and he lets himself smile big and wide and silly and spoil himself with this, ruin everything he could ever want for himself in the future by falling in love with this little girl and her father.

He scoops her up eventually, cradling her fully in both his arms and she kicks her feet happily, tiny little pumps banging against his biceps. He has a horribly intrusive thought of tossing her in the air but he doesn’t trust himself not to drop her and he’d never forgive himself if she got hurt. He shakes his head clear, pulls her closer into his chest, ignores his stupid brain.

He finds everyone in the kitchen and Frances announces their arrival with possibly the most high pitched squeal ever uttered in the history of the earth and he sees everyone in the room cringe just slightly, including John, which has nothing on the way his eardrums are ringing.

“What’ve you been up to all day?” Adrienne asks, leaning into Eliza’s arms.

“My money’s on the library,” Angelica says and Lafayette snorts.

“No one will take you on that bet, my dear,” he says and Alex scrunches his nose up at him.

“Frances came and found me in, you guessed it, the library,” he glares at Lafayette. “She was telling me all about her new dress.”

Eliza coos happily, blowing kisses at Frances and making her laugh. “And she looked just gorgeous, didn’t she? John, show Alex the pictures you took,” she says and a strange look passes over John’s face before he smiles, strained, and slips his phone out of his pocket. Alex shifts on his feet and readjusts Frances in his arms, uncomfortable, and tries not to breathe in John’s smell as he leans in to show Alex the screen.

Frances is wearing a creamy little dress with a belt with a big bow at the back, navy trimmed and adorable. She’s even wearing a little tiara, perched atop her curls, and he hums approvingly, bouncing her in his arms.

“I said you’d look like a princess, didn’t I?” he murmurs, smiling when she grins and mashes her fingers over the screen and inadvertently causes the photos to scroll through, skipping through more photos of her until there’s a photo of John on screen, a selfie, of him in his suit for the wedding.

He looks a little nervous, like he’s not sure if he looks good, with one hand touching his short curls apprehensively. He’s got nothing to be nervous about, of course, because he looks perfect to Alex and always will, whether he’s in sweats or in suits. The suit itself is dark blue, with a beautiful cream coloured waistcoat and golden buttons. His legs look long as hell and the suit jacket hugs his shoulders and waist and Alex has to stop himself from sighing dreamily because, honestly, that’s not fair.

“Nice colour scheme,” he says instead and Eliza and Adrienne beam at him.

Lafayette tosses his hair. “I look fabulous in blue.”

“You look fabulous in everything, honey,” Alex says, sugary sweet, blowing him a kiss. His heart lurches when he realises he’s been pining all over John when Lafayette is in the room, his boyfriend, fake, but still. It makes his stomach churn, that he could betray Lafayette like that, even if he doesn’t know it.

He’s knocked out of his spiral of inner flagellation by John manoeuvring Frances out of his arms. He lets her go reluctantly, but she seems reluctant too, pulling a sad face and reaching for him.

“It’s time for your _siesta_ , baby,” John says to her and she whines unhappily.

“Don’ wanna,” she pouts and John looks at her, unimpressed. They’re adorable, both staring down the other, almost identical expressions on their faces.

“You gotta nap, baby girl, or you’ll be grumpy later,” he says, frowning.

“Grumpy now,” she insists and Alex has to stifle his laughter. John shoots him a look that tells him he’s being unhelpful but it’s just too cute to take seriously.

“ _Siesta_ now,” John says firmly and Frances’ face scrunches up in a warning of waterworks but John is still stubbornly frowning at her like only a father who’s dealt with this a hundred times before can.

“Maybe a story?” Alex suggests before he can stop himself. Frances jams her fingers in her mouth and blinks big eyes at him, looking small and sweet once again.

“You’d do that?” John says in a funny voice.

“Yeah, sure, I’m great at talking,” he shrugs.

“If he talks about politics or law then she will be asleep within minutes,” Lafayette interjects and Alex drags his eyes away from Frances and John to glare at him. Laf just shrugs and spreads his hands, faux innocent, and Alex shakes his head at him, unimpressed.

“I can just as easily talk knights and dragons and magicians, thank you very much,” he defends himself and looks back at John.

“I can do this, trust me,” he says quietly and something in John’s pretty eyes softens, and for a split second Alex thinks that maybe time has rewinded, John looking at him like that, so warm, his eyes like honey.

“Okay,” John murmurs and Alex follows him helplessly out of the kitchen and up the stairs, feeling Angelica’s eyes on his back and ignoring them entirely. He probably shouldn’t be pushing his luck here, shouldn’t be spending so much time with John and Frances, but fuck he can’t help it. This week is probably all he’s going to get and he’s _weak_ with it.

Frances has a room of her own, a cot and a baby light and several fluffy toys strewn about the floor, little clothes and shoes covering the floor.

“This place looks like a bomb hit it,” Alex observes with a laugh.

“My entire life looks like a bomb hit it,” John mutters under his breath and Alex laughs louder, Frances joining in even though she doesn’t understand.

John plops Frances down in the cot, slipping off her pumps and getting her to lift her arms above her head so he can strip off her shirt, leaving her in her vest and shorts. She smacks her lips together and makes funny little noises and Alex waggles his fingers at her, snatching them away when she tries to grab them and teasing her until she stomps her foot.

“Stop working her up before her nap,” John chides, tugging on Alex’s bun, and it’s so domestic that Alex wants to cry.

“You gon’ lie down, baby?” John asks and Frances obediently plonks down and pulls her blanket over herself, cuddling up and turning her head so she can see Alex and John, both of them sat cross-legged on the floor next to the cot, their shoulders brushing. It’s wonderful and terrible, being here like this with John and Frances, putting John’s baby girl to sleep, like he’s imagined so many times before. To be fair, he’d imagined it would be _their_ baby girl, that maybe he and John would have rings on their fingers, rather than them not having talked for three years, the silence between them thick and tense.

“Story,” Frances demands, pouting her lips at Alex.

“ _Modales, peque_ _ña_ ,” John corrects her gently and she blinks at them both.

“ _¿Por favor?_ ” she tries and Alex snorts, grinning, completely taken in by her big brown eyes and sweet face.

He starts the story in a soft voice, something fantastical about a princess locked in a tower who used magic to break out and save all the little woodland animals from the fierce dragon that terrorises them. She gets sleepier the longer he talks, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and Alex’s heart aches at how sweet she looks, breathing deep and slow, so tiny there in the cot.

John places a hand on his arm and Alex’s voice stutters to a halt. John smiles at him, small and weak, and gestures for Alex to stand up quietly, tiptoeing across the floor and avoiding stepping on Frances’ toys, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“Thank you for doing that,” John says, his voice soft and low.

Alex shrugs awkwardly, shrinking in on himself a little. It’s odd to be faced with John on his own, with no one else around, and he finds he can hardly look at him for fear of snapping and doing something stupid.

“Don’t mention it, I enjoyed it,” he assures him. “ _Ella es_ _un tesoro_.”

“ _Ella es mi vida_ ,” John says with a small smile. Alex feels his lips twitch in response, powerless against the way John looks right now, honest and unguarded.

“I can’t say I know a lot about parenting but you seem to be doing a good job,” and Alex might be imagining it but it seems like John sways into him a little bit, getting closer.

“That means a lot to me, Alexander, you don’t know how much,” he says lowly. Alex has to suppress a shiver at the sound of his name falling from John’s lips again, something intimate in it, reminding him of all the times John has said it before, and he yanks himself back suddenly, putting some distance between them, his skin burning.

“We should get back,” he stutters, “I need to… Lafayette,” he says awkwardly.

John tenses up for a second and then nods, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Right, yes, of course,” he says and waves Alex off. “I’m just going to watch Frances for a little bit, clean up her room, you go back downstairs.”

Alex feels uneasy as he turns towards the stairs, like there’s something unfinished here, and John’s voice stops him short as he reaches the first step.

“Hey,” he calls and Alex turns back towards him, looking at him from across the distance of the corridor. John looks hesitant, one hand on the door handle, chewing his lip as he looks back at Alex.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says eventually. Alex’s heart stops for a second, his chest feeling like it’s caved in, before he manages a wobbly smile.

“You too,” he says back, ridiculously relieved that his voice doesn’t crack, and whips around to hurry down the stairs so he doesn’t have to look at John anymore.

His words echo in his head, over and over, and Alex has to step into the downstairs bathroom and wipe under his eyes quickly to make sure no tears have leaked out. It’s silly and nonsensical but he feels like he’s been punched in the chest. John’s _happy for him_. He’s _happy_ he’s moved on, apparently, that he’s with Lafayette and not John anymore. He’s _happy_ about it, fuck.

Alex swallows, levels himself a hard look in the mirror. He needs to get himself together or he’s never going to survive this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> qu'il est mignon: bless him - amousons-nous: let's have fun - ta gueule: shut the fuck up - c'est des conneries: this is bullshit
> 
> chiquita / niña / pequeña: baby girl or little girl - belleza: beautiful - princesita: princess - florecita: little flower -  
>  modales: manners - ella es un tesoro: she's a treasure - ella es mi vida: she's my life


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did this even happen?” he blurts before he can stop himself. John looks at him again, his eyebrows crinkling together.  
> “How did what happen?” he asks, levelling Alex with an unreadable look.  
> Alex flaps his hand, gesturing to Frances on his chest. “Her,” he says stupidly.

“So,” Lafayette says, perched on the edge of the bed. He’s fluffing his hair out, twisting the curls around his fingers and letting them spring back around his head. He looks soft, wearing old pyjama bottoms and nothing else, his feet bare.

“So?” Alex echoes, rummaging around in his bag for some socks.

“About last night,” Lafayette starts and Alex groans, digs his toes into the carpet.

“Do we really have to?” he pouts.

Lafayette shoots him a look with a raised eyebrow that tells him he’s being childish and that Lafayette isn’t impressed by it. Alex sighs and closes his eyes, silently praying that he doesn’t let his complicated history with John slip and dump all his burdens on Lafayette’s shoulders when his friend has already got more than enough to worry about.

“I said we would talk, so we’ll talk,” Laf says firmly and pats the mattress beside him. Alex slumps over, clutching his pair of socks tightly in his hands so he has something to squeeze, like a stress ball.

“You acted like you wanted to fuck, but you did not actually want to fuck,” Lafayette continues. “And I’m worried because it seemed like you were forcing yourself?” his voice goes up at the end, concerned, and Alex squeezes the socks harder, his bones white under the skin.

“I’m worried,” Lafayette sighs, his voice soft, “I’m not sure where your mind is and I fear it’s not in a good place and I don’t know why.”

Alex hunches over, trying to make himself smaller. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this, he really, really doesn’t. Lafayette sounds so concerned, so worried, and he’s treating Alex like if he touches him then he’ll break, shatter. Alex has a vision of his body splintering into shards and Lafayette cutting up the soles of his feet, his palms, trying to glue him back together. He shudders, licks his lips. Tries to push the thought away.

“I think I was just… Overwhelmed,” Alex says miserably. It’s not a lie, because he was feeling overwhelmed, but it’s deliberately vague. He doesn’t like omitting information like this, especially not to Lafayette. He’s a pretty open person, no holds barred, and the only secrets he really keeps are ones that his friends ask him to. He’s tight lipped about his childhood because, honestly, who the fuck wants to hear that sob story, and also because less favourable people judge him for his beginnings. He’s not talked about John because it’s still so tender, and every time he thought about poking that bear in the past he’d come away scarred and scared, and now it flares up as fresh pain, like John’s dug his fingers into the wound and pulled it slowly back open, inch by inch, until his heart is in John’s fist and he’s making it bleed with his fingernails.

Alex swallows past the lump in his throat and pulls on his socks, trying to distract himself, hoping to any Gods out there that Lafayette won’t notice his shaking hands.

Lafayette hums, though it’s unconvinced. “Why would you say you wanted me if you did not want me?”

Alex blinks at him. “I said I wanted you, I always want you.”

“ _Oui_ , _évidemment_ , you are not blind _mon ami, mais_ ,” he purses his lips. “Why would you force it at all? Me and you, we are about having fun. About being close, being there for each other. You did not want me there. You did not let me touch you when you went to sleep. So I am confused as to why you would try in the first place.”

Alex rubs at his eyes, hoping that when he takes his fingers away the world will be a easier place to live in. But, no, when he blinks he’s in the same room looking the same blue walls, facing the same damn question.

“I guess,” he tries, “I was trying to distract myself,” he finishes truthfully, wincing and hoping Lafayette won’t ask follow up questions. He was trying to distract himself from John, the circle of repetitive thoughts his brain was swimming around, all his memories of days spent so happily with John before it all went sour. He hopes Lafayette will just assume he means he wanted to be distracted from meeting his family, from having to put on an act.

“You know how a good fucking can clear my mind, take away my problems for a little bit. I thought I could, you could, we could, but. I don’t think it would have helped, I think it would have just made things worse. And I’m grateful that you made me stop,” he says, places his hand on Lafayette’s knee. Lafayette covers it with his own, twisting their fingers together comfortingly.

“You know that I don’t mind you offering to suck my dick,” Lafayette grins and Alex snorts, startled into giggles. Lafayette squeezes his hand and continues, “But I am always going to say no if I think it’s for the wrong reasons, or that you are not fully there. I’m aware that what we do sometimes is out of the box for normal friendship, but I like being close to you, I like giving you what you need. But only if you actually _want_ it, not when you _think_ it’s what you should want.”

“Outside of the box,” Alex mumbles to correct him then shoots him a smirk. “I’m glad you don’t _mind_ me offering to suck your dick,” and Lafayette sticks his tongue out at him. Alex scrunches up his nose and flips him off with his spare hand, making Lafayette laugh brightly, his smile pushing at his cheeks and making them plump up like a cute chipmunk, and Alex’s heart feels full to the brim with his relief and happiness that he’s got a friend like Lafayette, who understands him so well.

“You’re a good friend,” he says quietly, and Lafayette’s smile softens.

“I’m going to cuddle the shit out of you,” he states and immediately tackles Alex to the mattress. He kicks and squeals, wriggling around, and Lafayette digs his fingers into his ribs and makes him scream, makes him beg for him to stop. He drops a quick kiss on Alex’s lips and Alex pushes him off, pulling a face, and Lafayette drags him up and dumps him on the pillows, manhandling him until they’re both under the covers and Alex is curled up with Lafayette behind him, his lanky arms draped across his body.

He sighs and sinks into it, this warm and familiar embrace, matches his breathing with Laf’s and lets his mind drift.

He’d been subdued at dinner, chewing his food mechanically and not speaking up much, his heart still aching dully at John’s words. _I’m really happy for you, I’m really happy for you, I’m really happy for you,_ running through his head on a loop like a particularly persistent track athlete. John had been quiet too, spending most of his time whispering to Eliza or plaiting Frances’ hair while she squirmed around in his lap and Alex had tried very hard to just keep his head down and get through the rest of the night unscathed. He’d gotten sucked into a conversation with Peggy later about the women’s shelter they were setting up and he’d been happy to let her ramble, prompting her every now and then, knowing it wasn’t his place to offer anything other than positive encouragement. She seemed to glow under his careful attention and he was just glad, for once in his life, to sit back and let someone else do all the talking.

The gathering had disbanded pretty early, starting with Jeanne getting called away back to the hotel by her husband because apparently Phillippine had fallen sick. John went to put Frances down, then Eliza decided to turn in, blowing kisses to her pouting fiancée as they headed to their separate rooms, having decided to spend the week before the wedding away from each other. Everyone else filed up shortly after, Lafayette leading Alex up the stairs and Angelica pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before she ascended the next staircase, and Alex had tiredly gone through the motions of getting ready for bed before Lafayette had pulled him into that discussion.

He’s glad they talked, though. There’s still something inside him that’s churning at the thought that he’s keeping a secret from his friend, lying to him, and he hugs himself tighter into Lafayette’s arms, tries to sink his apology into his skin.

He’s exhausted from having such a crappy rest last night but sleep seems to be eluding him once again, slipping just out of his grasp every time he reaches out for it. He huffs and wiggles and Lafayette murmurs into his neck, sticks his cold nose onto Alex’s skin, and he resigns himself to another night of frustration.

He does drop off, eventually, between one thought and the next. His dreams are restless, blurry, flicking between saturated colour and black and white, like they’ve been sucked dry and left for dust. He’s uneasy within them, his skin crawls like he’s being watched, and he jerks awake in the middle of the night to find that his pillow is wet with his tears. He wipes at his eyes, confused and muddled, and turns around in Lafayette’s arms, burying his face into his friend’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. His dreams don’t really get any better, but every time he wakes up after he’s got Lafayette right there, his heartbeat steady and reliable, his chest moving up and down softly as he breathes into Alex’s hair.

His eyes feel raw in the morning, look red and swollen in the cold light of day. He pushes his head into Lafayette’s shoulder at the breakfast table and Lafayette makes appropriately concerned cooing noises, runs his fingers soothingly through Alex’s hair.

Everyone bustles around him and Alex feels like someone’s hit his slow motion switch, forcing the minutes to pass slow and thick, like it’s treacle in the hour glass and not sand. He burrows himself into the squishy cushions of the armchair in the library with a great tome he’s dragged off one of the shelves and lets the morning sunlight warm him as it filters through the glass. He could probably be doing something much more productive but no one bothers him even though they all know he’s in the library.

He pokes his head out sometime after midday, intent on making himself a sandwich, and bumps into John in the corridor. He looks frazzled, his hair curling wildly, and he’s sucking on a lollipop like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. _Peach sherbet_ , Alex’s brain supplies him before he can even properly think about it. He recognises the brand from the colours on the stick. It’s the same kind that he’d buy John whenever he was stressed, dropping the bag into his lap and watching him suck his way through half the packet before he’d relax enough to turn around and give Alex fizzy kisses, his lips buzzing against Alex’s, tasting like sugary-sweet peaches.

John blinks at him, tucks the lolly into the side of his cheek. “Hi,” he says around his mouthful and Alex has a hard time mustering up a convincing smile. He’s seen John like this a hundred times, during every finals week, before every presentation, in the lead up to every meeting with his father.

But the distance between them is new, the way John holds himself is new, even the cut of John’s hair is new, unfamiliar, and they’re both hesitant around each other now. Back then, Alex wouldn’t have skipped a beat before licking his way into John’s mouth and curling his tongue around the lolly, sucking it out of his mouth and into his own, an impressive feat of dexterity that never failed to make John’s eyes grow dark. Now he’s left shifting on his feet, memories painfully crowding in his head, chewing his lip and trying to think of something to say.

“You seem stressed,” he says dumbly, wincing as soon as the words come out.

John shoots him a tired smile, his eyes tight. “What gave it away,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. Alex winces again because, duh, he’s not the only one with memories related to those damn peach lollies, he can see it in John’s eyes, the uncomfortable set of his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks slowly, unsure of whether he should continue this awkward interaction or not. John sighs and he huffs out a mirthless laugh.

“What isn’t wrong?” he muses. “The bakery called and apparently there’s been a miscommunication and the cake is decorated with the wrong colours. The florist called to tell us they’ve accidentally double booked us and can no longer arrange the flowers for the wedding. Apparently we don’t have enough _napkins_ , of all things, and I’m trying to juggle all this stuff _and_ Frances, because I’d usually leave her with Jeanne but Phillippine is sick and I don’t want to expose Frances to that, and something’s been fucked up at work and they need us to sort it out A.S.A.P. so everything’s just a big ol’ mess.” His accent comes out towards the end, a small Southern flare that he’d worked hard to smother during college, betraying the depth of his distress.

“Where is she now?” Alex asks. “Frances, I mean.”

“She’s with Angelica, but not for long because Angie has to go deal with something to do with Eliza’s dress.”

“No one else can take her?”

John flaps his hands about. “All of Adrienne’s other siblings are going into the city to see a show, Peggy’s been called in to deal with the work thing, Lafayette is trying to deal with the florists, and Mr. Schuyler has back problems and can’t run around after my crazy little girl.”

Alex frowns, hurt. “Why don’t I take her?” he asks, rocking up on his toes. “I’ve got a bunch of free time, hanging out with your little _princesita_ won’t be a hardship.”

John stares at him. Switches the lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. Stares at him some more. “You’d do that?” he says eventually, his tone incredulous.

Alex flinches, offended. “Of course I would,” he says softly.

“It’d be the whole rest of the day, you’d have to entertain her and feed her and put her down for her _siesta_. She’s not fully potty trained yet, so you’d have to keep a sharp eye out. She’ll probably cry and run away from you a lot,” he warns, his eyebrows furrowed together. Alex bites his lip, wanting desperately to prove himself.

“I can do it,” he says firmly. “And even if I can’t, I’m capable of suffering through for a few hours. Let me help, it’ll make me feel useful at least.” He swallows. “And I like Frances,” he continues nervously, his voice small and quiet. “I’d like to spend more time with her.”

John looks at him for so long that Alex ends up lowering his eyes, feeling anxious and hot, his skin too tight.

“Okay,” John says eventually and turns on his heel. Alex looks around blankly at the walls and stutteringly wonders if he should follow him, but John returns shortly with Frances in his arms, holding her protectively. He transfers her to Alex and he bounces her on his hip while she makes gummy smacking noises in his ear.

“She has her _siesta_ at around two, and she’ll want a few snacks to keep her going, there’s food in the fridge and she’s not allergic to any of it so go wild. She’ll, um, probably cry when she realises I’m not coming back, so be prepared for that. Just,” he flits his hands about, smoothing an errant curl behind his ear. “Just make sure she doesn’t hurt herself, okay?”

Alex frowns, a small part of him stinging. “I’ll take care of her,” is all he says, though.

John steps forward, aborted, but he takes a deep breath and comes to cuddle Frances goodbye, even though she’s still in Alex’s arms. Alex is presented with John’s shoulders, broad and with the fabric of his shirt stretching tight across them, and he averts his eyes. John is so _close,_ and his smell is the same, the same cologne, the same fresh and warm scent and Alex abruptly remembers how he used to shove his nose into John’s neck, breathe deep, and fall asleep there.

John’s mumbling to Frances in Spanish, dropping kisses all over her cheeks, and she reaches out and hugs him around the neck, giggling prettily.

“You be a good girl, you hear?” John says, his accent coming through for a second. He smooths down her hair, flicks his eyes to Alex before kissing Frances again. “ _Te amo, ni_ _ñ_ _a,_ I’ll be back soon. Be good for Alexander, okay? He’ll look after you.”

Frances makes a noise of protest when John leans away, her fingers reaching for him. “Papi,” she whimpers and John kisses her fingers, shushes her. Turns to Alex.

“Call me if you need me, it’s the same number as before,” he says quietly and Alex swallows. Thinks about the text conversations that have been lying stagnant for the last three years, still saved on his phone. He averts his eyes, not wanting to look at John in this moment.

“We’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “You get off now, _hasta luego_.” John shoots him a weak smile, the corners of his mouth falling quickly before he turns away, looking back once or twice. Frances cries out and reaches for him and Alex bounces her, shushes her, pets her hair.

“We’ll be fine, baby girl, we’ll have fun. Your Papi will be back soon, _te prometo, cariño,_ ” he says, trying to sooth her. She looks at him with big wet eyes, whimpers, and then tears are spilling down her cheeks and she’s wailing in her ear.

“Oh no, oh God, oh poor baby,” he says in a rush, cuddling her into his chest. Her tears dampen his shirt and he rubs his hand up and down her back, trying to calm her. His heart aches at her sobs, wet and heavy.

“He’ll be back soon, he’s coming back, your Papi will be back,” he says over and over and she just cries harder. He winces, readjusts her, swears in Spanish a couple of times before he feels guilty and goes back to making soothing noises.

He holds her close, kisses her hair, and resigns himself to an afternoon of this, of her distress unhappiness, of his utter helplessness in the wake of her tears. He sighs and pats her back. It’s gonna be a long few hours.

 

.

 

He wakes up with a jolt when he hears someone bump into something and start to curse in Spanish. _John,_ his brain supplies, and he relaxes back into the sofa, rubbing his hand over Frances’ back to make sure she’s still asleep.

“Fuck,” John mutters, rubbing his hip. “Hi.”

“ _Buenos tardes_ ,” Alex says back, his voice thick. He clears his throat, blinks his eyes a couple of times so he can focus better on John. He’s standing awkwardly, his phone in his hand, gazing at Alex and Frances on the sofa.

His lips quirk. “You got her down for a nap, then?” he says, amused.

Alex snorts, rolling his eyes. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding when you said she’d cry. She’s only sleeping now because I think she exhausted herself.”

“It’s not all sunshine and roses,” John mumbles. He rubs the back of his neck, rocks forwards on his toes, then abruptly steps forward and joins them on the sofa. He lifts Alex’s legs and sits down at the other end, letting Alex’s feet drop into his lap. He rummages around in his bag for a second and comes back up clutching an old and battered book, cracking the spine and thumbing it open to the first page.

“My, my,” Alex murmurs, looking at him through hooded eyes. “You must be really stressed. First the peach lollipops and now this? How are you still functioning?”

John grins at him, quick as a flash. “We’ve not reached DEFCON level 5 yet, I haven’t quite gotten to the point of breaking out the whiskey. But you’re right,” he licks his lips. “I’m feeling very stressed at the moment.”

He fixes his eyes on the book and sits tense, his shoulders tight, and Alex watches him relax as he works his way through the first chapter. This is John’s favourite book, _My Family And Other Animals_ , and it looks like the same copy that he’d had back in college, dog eared and banged up from being stuffed in the bottom of his bag numerous times and once, memorably, dropped in the bath. He’d told Alex that this was his favourite book because “nothing much happens” and it allows him to unwind, to relax. It helps that it’s full of nature, lots of animals and flowers, things that John loves. Alex watches him lick his finger and turn the pages one by one, his eyes feeling heavy.

The last few hours had been long as hell, what with Frances crying for the majority of them. She’d hiccuped in his ear, her little voice cracking and tears rolling hot down her chubby cheeks as Alex tried to comfort her. She’d quietened when he’d started pacing, rubbing her back and murmuring nonsense in Spanish and he’d fed her some apple slices, a few animal crackers, which she ate happily enough.

It got to about forty minutes after John left and she seemed to clock that he wasn’t coming back and the tears had started all over again, only this time she’d been given a burst of energy by the food and Alex had spent half an hour chasing her around the house, her tiny legs running away from him while she sobbed unhappily. She’d wet herself which just made her even more upset, and had to deal with her screaming while he tried to change her, wriggling about and hitting him with her little fists.

He’d managed to wrangle her upstairs at around two thirty, letting her cry into his shoulder, but then she threw a massive tantrum when he’d tried to put her down. She kept climbing out of the cot and running away and eventually he’d dropped down on the floor in exhaustion, defeated. She’d crawled towards him, wary but wanting to be held, and he’d rocked her in his lap and pressed kisses into her hair, his heart aching. He hated to hear her cry, hated every whimper that passed through her lips and every wet sob that clawed its way out of her throat. She didn’t deserve to be so miserable, she deserved to be full of joy and laughter. It hurt him that he couldn’t calm her, that he couldn’t give her what she wanted, that all he could do was thumb the tears from her cheeks and kiss her, trying, trying, trying, and failing.

He ended up mumbling into her skin, hushing her gently. “I know, baby, I know, I want him back too, but if you sleep he’ll be here sooner. I know, I know,” he’d repeated, holding her so gently, feeling her heart beating hard in her chest, rattling her ribs under his palms.

He’d tried to put her down again but she cried and reached for him and he’d decided, desperate, that maybe a change of scenery would help. He carried her down to the library, flopping wearily onto the sofa by the windows, positioning her on his chest. He’d spun some wild stories while she mouthed at his shirt and tried not to shift too much when she drooled on him. Her head ended up nestled in his neck, her little legs kicking at his stomach, and he’d pet her hair and pat her bum, letting his voice rumble into her ears. Her eyes drooped slowly, her mouth falling open softly, and eventually she’d dropped off, her breaths short and steady. He’d gone limp in relief, sighing deeply, and closed his eyes too, hoping to catch some rest, heart heavy in his chest.

“What time is it?” he mumbles, trying not to speak too loudly and accidentally wake Frances. John glances at him then at his watch.

“Just after five,” he says back. Stretches his arm across the back of the sofa. Alex curls his toes in his lap, chewing his lip.

“How did this even happen?” he blurts before he can stop himself. John looks at him again, his eyebrows crinkling together.

“How did what happen?” he asks, levelling Alex with an unreadable look.

Alex flaps his hand, gesturing to Frances on his chest. “Her,” he says stupidly. “How did… I mean, you didn’t, not while we were…” he trails off and John blinks at him.

“Of course not,” he says in a rush. “Do you really think- No, of course not.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Alex follows the movement with his eyes. His toes curl up again.

“After,” John starts, then stops. Alex thinks he hears his breath hitch but John just clears his throat. “ _After,_ ” he says significantly, “I went back to South Carolina, like I said I would. I moped around for about a month until my sister got sick of it and set me up with one of her friends, a girl she knew, called Martha Manning.”

 _A month_ , Alex thinks grimly. A month, and that’s it? He remembers how utterly useless he’d been for such a long time, how it had taken meeting Lafayette to get him to crawl out of his hovel of misery, how he and Angelica crashed and burned so quickly because all he could think about still was John. A month, though. Apparently that’s all John needed.

And, a _girl_? It’s not like Alex thought Frances had sprung fully formed from John’s forehead, he’s not stupid, there had to have been some kind of heterosexual intercourse for her to exist but. John? With a girl? It sounded so absurd that it was hard to wrap his head around. He’d expected John to say “one night stand” and have that be that but apparently there’s a whole story to it, which means he _dated_ her, holy fuck. John had always said he’d never date another girl in his life, still in the closet to his family or no, that he didn’t want to go down that road of self hatred and deceit ever again. Apparently, that was a crock of bullshit.

“She was nice,” John’s saying, and Alex watches him pick at the corner of one of the pages in the book. “She was more of a friend to me than anything, but I think she actually liked me, like that, you know. We tried, I mean- Obviously, Frances wasn’t just dropped on our doorstep, we had to-” he waves his hand around and grimaces. Well, that’s a relief. John seems vaguely repulsed by the memory of it and Alex breathes through the knot in his chest, relieved for some crazy reason, as if he was scared John would announce his heterosexuality and tell Alex the whole gay thing was a mistake.

“It didn’t…. Go great,” he winces, continuing the story. “I think she could tell that I didn’t want to, but apparently it was more than enough to create her,” he nods towards Frances, a smile tugging softly at his mouth.

“Anyway, I freaked the fuck out. My _dad_ freaked too, since he wasn’t so happy that Martha was a first generation Dominican immigrant. We got in a massive argument and I… Came out to him, I yelled at him, and I ended up running away. I ran all the way to France.”

Alex listens quietly, bounces his heels in John’s lap like it lets him knows he’s listening. John rubs at his eyes with the hand not holding his book and then drops it to curl around Alex’s ankle. Alex tries very hard not to make a noise at John’s long fingers squeezing the bones of his ankle absently, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“I fucked around there for a while, and I met Adrienne, and she aggressively became my friend by wooing me with croissants.” He cracks a grin but it’s short lived, and his eyebrows go back to being furrowed together. Alex wants to smooth out the wrinkles with his thumb, frame his face between his hands and kiss his worries away. His toes curl up again.

“She dragged the whole sorry story out of me and slapped me in the face then booked us both tickets back to the U.S.. I’d been gone a while, and my dad was still angry with me, and Martha didn’t have any family, so we all lived together in this shitty flat we rented out. Then, when Martha was about eight months gone, she got in a car accident,” he clears his throat, blinks rapidly. Sniffs. Alex’s heart starts to hurt, the realisation of where this story is going dawning on him sickeningly.

“She bled out on the table, but they managed to save Frances. She was so small, they put her in one of those little incubator things and I wasn’t allowed to touch her with my bare hands because her immune system was so weak. I used to have to put my hands in those holes on the side, in these thick gloves. I didn’t get to hold her until she was a month old,” his voice is hoarse and his eyes look shiny as he gazes at Frances, curled up on Alex’s chest. Alex swallows, rubs a hand down Frances’ back, reassuring himself that she’s still here. She breathes gusts of air onto his neck and smacks her lips together, completely oblivious.

“My dad banned everyone from contacting me, he didn’t approve of my “lifestyle” and he wanted nothing to do with Frances, so it was just me and Adrienne. It was really hard, it was so hard that for a bit there I thought about giving her up. I called Angelica since I knew her family was involved with the orphanage and she put me in contact with Eliza,” he musters a small smile, a bit wobbly still.

“She flew all the way down to S.C. even though she barely knew me. Helped me get back on my feet, helped me look after Frances, helped me learn to properly love her. She and Adrienne hit it off, obviously, and she invited us both to move up to New York, said she’d put my Social Work degree to good use and offer me a job. There was nothing left for me in Carolina so we moved, and I’ve been here ever since.”

There’s a silence after he finishes, John still sniffing a little and Alex unsure of what to say.

“That sucks,” he settles on eventually and John’s entire body jolts with the force of his snort. He shoots Alex an incredulous look, his shoulders shaking with laughter, and Alex smiles guiltily back.

“You’re right, it does suck,” he wipes at his eyes. “But it gave me Frances, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” His eyes are soft and warm, such a deep steady brown that it makes Alex’s breath hitch just a little. He busies himself twisting some of Frances’ curls around his fingers and John squeezes his ankle again.

“She’s beautiful,” Alex murmurs. “I mean, I think she’s permanently shattered my eardrums by screaming so loudly, but she’s wonderful, she really is. A little baby girl, God, John, I could hardly believe it when I saw you with her,” his voice is thick, honest, painful.

“I know,” John’s mouth twitches upwards. “When she was born I thought… I mean, I’d always thought me and you would…” He takes a deep breath. Releases it heavily. Alex stares at him, his heart thumping against his ribs in a steady ache in his chest. He doesn’t quite know what to say.

John fiddles with the book again, staring at his lap. He seems to realise that he’s stroking his thumb along Alex’s ankle and jerks his hand away, running it through his hair instead.

“Anyway,” he says and clears his throat. “That’s how it happened.”

“Sounds like you did way more in three years than I did,” Alex says, uncomfortable. John huffs a small laugh.

“For once in my life I think I did more work than you,” he shoots Alex an amused look from under his eyelashes. “Not that Law School is anything to shake a stick at.”

“It’s hard work but it’s probably not comparable to being a single father,” Alex rolls his eyes. “That is,” he licks his lips, “You are single, right?”

John stills, his shoulders tensing back up. “Um, yeah,” he mumbles. “It’s kinda hard to find time to date someone when I have her,” he nods towards Frances. “It’s even harder to find someone who’ll stick around when they find out I come with a kid.”

“Their loss,” Alex says quietly. “They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

John doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes forward. His knuckles have gone white, though, where he’s clutching his book. Alex breathes shallowly, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing, feeling silly and weak and _in love._ Fuck, his heart hurts just looking at John. It’s not the pain of a wound that hasn’t healed right, it’s the fresh stab of longing, a yearning for something he can’t have. His heart is in his throat like it’s trying to claw its way out and pathetically offer itself to John.

And this whole picture is so fucking domestic, too. Alex can see it in his mind’s eye: the afternoon light filtering through the big arched windows, him lying with little Frances dozing on his chest, his feet in John’s lap while he reads a book. It’s the kind of image that screams family, contentment, love, but both Alex and John are rigid, the space between them silent and strained, close to each other physically but emotionally on either side of the planet.

“I didn’t,” John says abruptly, his voice hoarse. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chews on it for a second. “I couldn’t have… Predicted, I guess, that my life would turn out this way. I used to think it would be you and me, and we’d just carry on being happy.”

“It’s not my fault we didn’t,” Alex says lowly.

John nods quickly, rubbing his eyes again. “I know, it was my fault, I was a coward. But a lot of things have changed since then, it’s been three years, I feel like I’ve grown a lot. And,” he stares straight ahead, “I’ve missed you. I thought about you, a lot. Almost constantly, in the beginning.” He takes a deep breath, and the seconds tick by as he seems to work himself up to saying something else.

“I’d like for us to be friends, again,” he says eventually.

Alex closes his eyes. This is as bad as _I’m really happy for you,_ if not worse. Friends. God, okay, he can do friends. He and Lafayette will pull off their fake relationship and stage a break up and he’ll indulge in pretending to cry into John’s shoulder, breathe in his scent, and he’ll help out with Frances, maybe babysit once or twice. Give John advice on what to wear on dates. Watch him fall in love again. Never say anything.

Jesus, when his future is laid out like that it sounds depressing as hell. He musters up a smile though, tries to breathe, rubs up and down Frances’ back and cuddles her close, keeping himself grounded.

“That sounds nice,” he says. His vision swims a little bit and he blinks rapidly to stem off any tears that are about to fall. He looks at Frances, at her sweet little face with her mouth open so softly, her eyelashes sweeping along her cheeks, her freckles that match John’s. Cradles her head with a shaking hand. Tries not to choke on the misery settling in his chest.

“I’m glad,” John says, smiling. “Friends.”

Alex dips his chin, closes his eyes. Curls his toes up. “Friends,” he echoes.

He can hear John crack open the book again, a brief shuffle of pages and then John breathing out a sigh. “Read to me,” he says before he can really think it through.

“Read to you?” John repeats, sounding surprised. Alex doesn’t open his eyes, just tips his head back on the arm of the sofa and tries to relax, breathe through it all.

“I like this book, it’s been ages since I’ve read it,” he mutters. John snorts.

“You never read it,” he states. “I used to read completely random passages out to you. You probably don’t even know what the story’s about.”

“You always said that nothing much happens, so it can’t be that hard to follow.” He digs his heels into John’s thighs, feels him jolt. “Read to me,” he demands, petulant.

John huffs softly but Alex can hear him flipping through the pages of the book. “I’ll start at the beginning then,” he says softly, and starts to read. “July had been blown out like a candle by a biting wind that ushered in a leaden August sky…”

 

.

 

“" _Chairete,_ ” he called in his deep voice, the beautiful Greek greeting, “ _Chairete, kyrioi_ … be happy.”” John reads, his voice comically deep.

“I’m pretty sure you pronounced that wrong,” Alex says from his position on the bed. John digs his fingers into Alex’s ribs and he yelps, half of the papers on his chest spilling out onto the bedspread.

“I just organised those,” he whines. Pouts at John. John sticks his tongue out and shimmies up the bed towards him, propping himself up on an elbow next to Alex’s pillow.

“That’s a blatant lie, you are the least organised person I know,” he states and Alex glares at him.

“Excuse you, I’m incredibly organised-”

“-You lose your keys every single day-”

“-Okay, point. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mess up my papers.”

John ignores him, cracks open the book again instead. “The goats poured among the olives, uttering stammering cries to one another, the leader’s bell clonking rhythmically-”

“What the fuck is this book, John, honestly, those poor goats sound like they’re in pain.”

“Shut up, my dear, this is my favourite book and I shan’t have you ruin it,” John shoves his fingers into Alex’s mouth and Alex swallows around them in surprise.

“The chaffinches tinkled excitedly. A robin puffed out its chest like a tangerine among the myrtles and gave a trickle of song,” John continues to read, letting Alex curl his tongue around his fingers.

“Oh yeah, these birds are really turning me on,” Alex tries to say around his mouthful but it comes out muffled. John shoves his fingers in further, the tips breaching his throat, and Alex has to breathe frantically through his nose, trying not to gag.

“Be a good boy and shut up,” John warns him, not taking his eyes off the book. “The island was drenched with dew, radiant with early morning sun, full of stirring life-” _something’s stirring,_  Alex thinks, feeling his cock fill out in his boxers. He splits John’s fingers with his tongue, getting them nice and wet, trying to get John to pay attention to him. John’s speech doesn’t even falter, though, he just carries on like Alex isn’t fucking his fingers expertly.

“-Be happy. How could one be anything else in such a season?” he reads, then looks at Alex through his eyelashes. Closes the book, throws it to the other end of the bed. Climbs over Alex, perching on his chest, his fingers still in his mouth. He pumps them in and out a few times, watching them sink past Alex’s lips, and Alex flushes what he knows is a splotchy pink colour and squirms against the bedspread.

John leans in close, breathes just inches away from Alex’s lips. He curls the tips of his fingers against the roof of Alex’s mouth, rubbing them there. “I’m very happy,” he whispers, lightly scratching his nails across the roof of Alex’s mouth. “Are you happy?”

Alex nods quickly, his eyes falling shut as he moans around John’s fingers. All thoughts of his work abandoned, he wants John to sit on his chest and fuck his mouth, come all over Alex’s face and lick it off. Spend an hour opening him up, teasing him, and then bring him off fast and hard, fuck his cock into Alex’s ass so good that he’ll feel it for days to come.

“Good boy,” John sighs, and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Alex arches his back up, his hands flying to John’s thighs and squeezing and John licks into his mouth, dominating, fucking Alex with his tongue. Fuck, suddenly Alex wants him to come in his mouth, then eat him out, drive him crazy until he’s sobbing with it.

John’s hands slide into his hair, tugging at the roots, and Alex tips his chin back and whines. John hums against him, sucks Alex’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down. Alex whimpers, breathing hard and heavy, and John pulls back. Alex tries to follow him, chase him, but John pushes on his chest to keep him down.

He can see that John’s cock has started to thicken, the long line of it evident through the fabric of his boxers, and he licks his lips.

“You want this?” John asks, palming his cock with his hand. Rubbing it until it tents his boxers, the head getting the material wet. Alex whines, his own dick throbbing, and wiggles under John, sticking his tongue out.

“Say it, Alexander, use your words,” John says lowly. “You’re usually such a wordsmith, I can never shut you up. Could shut you up with my cock, though, if you asked for it. Say it nice and pretty for me.”

“Let me suck you off,” Alex begs immediately, watching John’s fingers wrap around his dick through the fabric. He jerks his fist up, his hips rocking into the movement, and moves his palm down to fondle his balls.

“Again,” he orders. “Nicer this time.”

“Please let me,” Alex whines. “Let me suck your cock, you know I can do it so good, please,” he babbles, sticks his tongue out again. John hums, long and low, and leans down close to him again. His hand comes up to grab at Alex’s jaw, making his mouth pop open, and he licks his way in dirtily, takes what he wants from Alex and pulls away just as quick with a slick sound.

“Good boy,” he says again and Alex whimpers. John hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulls them over his hips, lets his cock spring up hard and heavy. Alex digs his fingernails into John’s thighs and John grabs his hands, tutting at him like he’s disappointed, and bends his arms so his hands are shoved behind the small of his back.

“Keep them there,” he says firmly, “Be a good boy for me.” Alex curls his hands into fists and bites his fingernails into his palms.

John shoves his boxers down his thighs, settles back on Alex’s chest and goes back to jerking himself off slowly. Alex watches the head of his dick slide through his fist, the wet head of it red and swollen, and tries not to ache too much with longing. He wants it in his mouth, he wants to taste, he wants to suck on it and choke on it and swallow around it and have John come deep down his throat.

He hums again, pushes his thumb into Alex’s mouth. Alex sucks eagerly on it, swirling his tongue around the digit as best as he can. “Baby boy,” John sighs, “ _Eres hermoso, mi sol, cari_ _ño._ I’m gonna give you what you want, okay? You want my cock?”

Alex nods frantically, licking at John’s fingertip. John removes his finger, shuffles forwards, grabs Alex’s jaw again. His mouth falls open automatically, waiting for John’s cock. John grabs himself at the base, twists his fist around and groans lowly.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice sounding awed. He pushes the head of his dick onto Alex’s tongue, rests it there. Alex breathes deep and flutters his tongue along the underside, licking as much as he can, drinking the drops of his precum. John grunts, sinks his cock in further.

The slide is slow and sweet and Alex seals his mouth around him tight, sucks hard to hear John groan. He settles in Alex’s throat, letting Alex swallow around him, pulling on his hair a little.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he whispers, watching Alex with dark eyes. Alex moans, deep in his throat, lets it vibrate around John’s cock. John sucks in a sharp breath, his lips twisting up into a snarl, and he pulls sharply on Alex’s hair, intended to hurt.

“Naughty,” he chides. “Trying to get me to come quick, aren’t you? You wanna swallow me so bad,” he shakes his head. “I’m gonna take this real slow, fuck your throat raw, until you can’t breathe, and I won’t let you swallow. That’s a reward for good boys,” he spits and Alex digs his nails harder into his palms. Squeezes his eyes shut. Waits for John to move.

He does, eventually, but first he just sits in Alex’s throat for a while, letting Alex get him nice and wet. When he starts to fuck his cock in and out, Alex can’t help the spill of spit that trickles past his lips, sloppy, and John grins, feral.

“You’re a mess,” he pants, rubbing his cockhead against the softness of Alex’s cheek inside his mouth. He pulls his dick out, rubs it against Alex’s lips. Alex pouts, tries to suck him back in, but John just pulls back entirely, fisting his cock lazily again, hovering over him.

He hums, shoves two fingers into Alex’s mouth, watches him suck on them earnestly. “So eager,” he murmurs, takes his fingers away, slides his cock back in, all the way into Alex’s throat. Alex’s eyes roll back into his head and he whines, a desperate, filthy sound, and John starts pumping his hips forwards, sinking into Alex’s mouth over and over. Alex does his best to move his tongue around him but John moves too fast, breaching his throat again and again, until all Alex can do is suck and drool all over him, spit sliding out the corners of his mouth and making him feel dirty and used.

“Close,” John gasps, groaning. He slows his hips down. He dips both thumbs into Alex’s mouth, pulling it open wider, fucks his cock in sloppily.

“What do you think? Do you deserve this?” he asks, and Alex lets out a strangled whimper. He can feel his cock jump in his boxers, rubbing against the fabric, and he’s so sensitive that he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I’m not sure,” murmurs John, and he pulls his cock out. Alex chases after him pathetically and John shoves his head back down onto the pillow harshly, digging his fingers into Alex’s forehead to keep him there.

“You don’t deserve it,” he says, his voice hard. Alex whimpers, pitiful, upset that he’s been deemed inadequate, that he’s disappointed John.

John wraps his hand around his cock, sliding his palm up and down through the combination of Alex’s spit and his own precum. His stomach tenses up and Alex aches to lick at his abs, to get his cock back in his mouth, to prove that he’s good. John continues to jerk himself, his hips grinding up into his fist, until the first spurts of come flow over his fingers, long lines of it falling onto Alex’s chest, warm on his skin. John groans, working himself through it, a few more drops leaking out as his cock jumps through the aftershocks and he takes his hand away, eventually, cleans his fingers off with his tongue.

Alex whines. He wanted to lick John clean, he wanted to taste him. John stills above him, like he’s only just become aware of Alex wriggling beneath him, and he clinically licks at his fingers until all the white seed is gone and he’s gazing back down at Alex, his eyes critical.

He leans down, suddenly, and starts to lick at Alex’s chest, gathering up his come from Alex’s skin. He gets it all, licking over Alex’s nipples, and leans back up to kiss him. Alex opens his mouth and John pushes his come into it, lets Alex moan and swallow his load, his gift, waits patiently until Alex has drank it all. He kisses him then, slow and thick, their tongues dragging against each other, and he sighs into it softly.

“You taste good,” John mumbles against his lips, sucking on them softly, going back to lazily make out with Alex for a good few minutes. He’s still hard and he’s hyper aware of it but he keeps his hands behind his back like he’s been told, waits for John to decide what comes next.

He moves away eventually, licking his lips like he’s licking off the taste of Alex. He crawls off Alex’s chest and Alex whines, bucking up, unable to help it, but John returns quickly, his boxers gone from his thighs and a bottle of lube in his hand. He grins wickedly, pumps some lube out onto his fingers, then reaches behind himself.

Alex groans, his eyes wide, as he watches John’s eyelids flutter shut and his hips twitch as he sinks a finger into himself. He swallows dryly, presses his knuckles into the small of his back. Bites his lip. Whispers John’s name, over and over, reverent.

John’s breaths are coming faster, little whimpers whenever he twists his fingers into himself, and Alex can barely stand it. “Touch me,” John gasps, and the speed at which Alex’s hands fly out from behind his back and fasten themselves into the gutters of John’s hips break all world records ever set. He runs his palms up John’s chest, tweaks his nipples, grabs his ass, his thighs, digs his fingers into the skin until little red marks show up.

John moans and jerks his hips, his cock starting to fill out again, and he shuffles back so the head of Alex’s cock is rubbing against the very top of his ass, where he’s got dimples, and he grins at Alex so sharply that his breath hitches, his dick twitches, a promise of what’s to come.

He leans in close, puts his lips to Alex’s ear. “Alexander,” he says, hushed. “Alex,” again, “Alex-”

“-Alex?” John’s voice startles him and he jolts out of his doze, the blurry edges of the memory fading away. His hands fly to Frances but she’s gone from his chest and he looks up, up at John, who’s bouncing a happy Frances on his hip and smiling down at him.

“It’s time for dinner, we’re all gathering in the kitchen. You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Alex blinks, rubs the crust out of his eyes. “Yeah, gimme a minute, I’ll be right there.”

John nods easily and turns away, walking across the floor of the library. Frances watches Alex over his shoulder, grinning into his shirt collar, squealing happily.

“‘Xander!” she shouts, and Alex feels his mouth tug up into a silly grin, his heart thump happily in his chest. “‘Xander, ‘Xander, ‘Xander,” she cries.

“That’s right baby, that’s my name,” he calls brightly, waving at her. John spins around and grins at him, bounces Frances in his arms.

“Who’s that?” he says and points at Alex.

“‘Xander,” Frances says obediently.

“Who am I?” he asks next and Frances throws her little hands up, giggling.

“Papi!” she gushes, delighted. John scrunches his nose up at her, rains kisses down on her cheeks, on her freckles.

“ _Tú es muy inteligente, querida_ ,” John murmurs, then turns to Alex. “See you in a minute,” he says and disappears with Frances through the doorway.

Alex groans and thumps his head back on the sofa, throwing his arms over his eyes dramatically. This is a fucking disaster, holy shit, he can’t believe that this is his life. His stupid brain supplied him with incredibly inappropriate memories of his _ex-boyfriend_ while said  _ex-boyfriend's_ _daughter_ was asleep on his chest. Fuck. He’s so screwed, there is literally no way he can come out of this on a positive note.

There’s no way his heart won’t rest in a million fractured pieces between his ribs for the rest of his life, _friends_ with John and nothing more, holding his baby girl and never being anything more than that family friend that maybe she’ll call _tío_ in the future, if he’s lucky. Hopelessly pining after a guy he can’t have because he’s been _friendzoned_ of all things and he cringes inside even thinking the word. It’s horrible, doesn’t exist, a derogatory way for angry men to insult people who won’t give them what they want.

 _I’d like for us to be friends, again,_ John had said, referring to a time when Alex pined after him anyway. There was never anything platonic there, there never could be, he fell hard and fast and never looked back. His stupid, traitorous heart had gotten filled up with John, gotten stuck on John, and now he can’t get him out of his system, can’t seem to disentangle the words _love_ and _John_ from one another, blended so well together that he can’t pull them apart anymore.

Now he’s stuck back in that same position as when he was eighteen, except now it’s worse, it’s so much worse, incomprehensible. Now, he knows what it’s like to have John, to hold him and touch him and love him, laugh with him, kiss him, fuck him, sleep next to him, say those three words and have them both mean it. Now, he’s held John’s baby girl, bonded with her, fallen in love with her at least a little bit. Now, his heart aches, pumping blood thick with memories of times long gone through his veins, keeping him alive but it feels like barely.

He breathes in deeply, trying to shake himself out of this ridiculous pathetic spiral of self-pity. Heaves himself off the sofa, stretches, cracks his back, his knuckles, his knees, one by one. Rhythmic. Habit. He feels a tiny bit better, but not much.

He rakes a hand through his hair and adjusts his shirt from where it’s sticking to his chest with Frances’ drool. Pulls a face but sighs in acceptance. He probably looks a mess but, fuck it, he’s had a really goddamn hard day.

Absently, as he makes his way through the house, he thinks about how utterly trashed he’s going to get at tomorrow’s bachelorette party. Longs for it. Plasters on a smile and steps into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> évidemment: obviously - hasta luego: see you later - te prometo: i promise - buenos tardes: good afternoon - eres hermoso: you're beautiful - mi sol: my sun - tú es muy inteligente: you're so smart - tío: uncle
> 
> my family and other animals is by gerard durrell; it's my favourite book


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Part of him wants to let John know that this is a ruse, that he’s really single and totally available, and Laf stating their weird friendship out of context really isn’t helping that. He’s aware that he can’t let John know, but part of him hopes that John will be able to tell anyway, that he’ll intuitively, instinctively, be able to tell that Alex is lying about all of this, but he knows deep down that it’s false hope."

Angelica gives him a significant look, eyebrows raised, when he walks into the kitchen. He looks at her, confused, and mouths _what_ but she just gives an even more significant look to John, with Frances perched on his hip and chewing on her own fist. Alex rolls his eyes, resists the urge to flip her off, and instead ignores her entirely.

“ _Mon petit lion_ , come here,” Lafayette waves him over, patting his knee. Alex sighs but goes easily, part of him finding it humiliating to perch himself on Laf and the other half desperately seeking comfort in whatever form he can get it.

Eliza sighs happily at them from across the table. “You know, we haven’t really had the opportunity to speak to you two together. I want to know everything, you’re so cute. How did you get together?” she asks sweetly.

Something inside Alex cringes immediately. Everyone around the table turns to fix their eyes on them and he can feel Lafayette going stiff behind him, which just makes him even more tense because hardly anything ever phases Lafayette. He can feel his heartbeat ratchet up, all of Lafayette’s adopted family and friends staring at them, and he wants to crawl into a hole and cry. He’s had the most unimaginably stressful day, has literally only moments before stumbled across the aching realisation that he’s still in love with his ex, and now he has to make up a story about how he and his fake-boyfriend started dating? The universe really must hate him, he decides.

“Well,” Lafayette says slowly, smoothing a broad palm over Alex’s stomach, “We met through Hercules, _non?_ ”

Alex breathes a small sigh of relief. That’s true at least, they can work with that.

“Yeah,” he picks up, “Hercules was my new roommate and he knew Lafayette from a pen pal scheme, was it?” Lafayette nods behind him, continuing to rub circles on Alex’s tummy. It relaxes him and he falls into storytelling mode, spinning something vaguely believable for everyone to swallow happily.

“Anyway, when Lafayette arrived he knew almost no English and so I basically tutored him. He practically lived in the apartment with us for the first few months, I kept tripping up over him everywhere.”

Lafayette snorts, an indignant noise. “I think you mean I was the one tripping over you. He left his books out everywhere, stacks of paper, cans of those disgusting energy drinks. I took the liberty of cleaning up-”

“-You moved _everything_ ,” Alex twists around and glares at him. “It was all perfectly organised, I knew where everything was, and he went and _moved_ it all.”

Eliza giggles, covering her hand with her mouth. Alex grins at her, a small thing, because looking back it is actually quite funny. Ridiculous, almost.

“You punched the ceiling, didn’t you?” Lafayette chuckles into his neck. Alex pinches his wrist in retaliation.

“I hit the roof, don’t pretend that you don’t know the right phrase,” he snipes. Lafayette sticks his tongue out onto Alex’s skin and he squirms away, protesting. Everyone laughs at them, happily convinced of the story.

“I told him he needed to relax, _non_? Get out for a bit. So I took him dancing,” Lafayette continues, his voice softening into something fond. Alex hooks his arm around Lafayette’s shoulder and strokes a hand through his curls, looking down at him with what he hopes is an adoring look. It’s not hard to pull off, because it’s not a lie that he loves Laf, but it’s strangely romantically intimate in a way they’ve never been before.

“He kept taking me dancing,” he murmurs, trying to make _we went out multiple times and got progressively drunk at several clubs_ sound romantic. “And we just sort of fell into it, didn’t we?” Translation: _we fell into bed and he fucked me until I passed out, and then we just decided to keep doing that on an irregular basis because it felt good and we’re best friends and we trust each other._

Lafayette smirks at him, obviously remembering how it all went down too, and squeezes Alex’s hip. “I find him irresistible,” he says, smooth, his accent thick, and several of the ladies around the table sigh.

“Gilbert has always known how to woo,” Adrienne chips in and Alex stifles a snort. If by woo she means clumsily grind all over a guy and loudly exclaim that he wants to fuck then yeah, Lafayette is quite a connoisseur at wooing.

“How long have you been dating?” Eliza asks, looking intrigued.

“Two years?” Lafayette replies in a doubtful voice. Alex blinks at him, surprised, because, fuck, it really has been two years since they first fell into bed. His surprised look quickly morphs into a glare because _two years_ implies commitment, it implies a future, and he and Lafayette had agreed to stage a swift break up after the wedding and he’s just gone and made it way more difficult to pull off.

Angelica whistles, raising her eyebrows at Alex. “Two years, huh? Maybe it’ll be you two getting married next.”

Alex shoots her a glare that could curdle milk but she tilts her chin up in a challenge, smug in the knowledge that he can’t feasibly correct her.

Lafayette laughs nervously, sounding uncomfortable. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says, his voice reedy. Alex cringes internally because, God, that didn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“We’ve known each other for two years,” Eliza says, gesturing between herself and Adrienne with their joined hands. “If we can do it then I think you can too. You two seem so in love,” she says earnestly and Alex feels both of them freeze, Lafayette going rigid behind him. Fuck, this is awkward.

“Maybe tomorrow when we pick up the rings you can take a look,” winks Henriette, Adrienne’s mother, and Alex practically jumps off Lafayette’s lap, the chair screeching loudly across the floor as they both stand up rapidly.

“I suddenly feel the need to escape,” Lafayette says in a tight voice and Alex nods frantically, herding Laf towards the door.

Eliza laughs, which sounds like more of a cackle really, and Alex abruptly feels terrified of her.

“That’s okay, you boys run away, we’ll just have the nice chat we’ve been meaning to have with John about why he’s still single,” she waggles her eyebrows and Alex’s eyes widen, shooting towards John who looks like a rabbit in the headlights.

“Is there room for a third escapee?” he asks in a strangled voice and Lafayette throws his head back, grinning wildly, and tells him that if he brings beer then he’s more than welcome.

John hastily hands Frances to Eliza, hops to the fridge, pulls out a six pack, and shimmies past them to be first out the door. The party at the table boo after them as they make their escape to freedom, Lafayette shooting them a jaunty salute over his shoulder.

They end up making their way to the back of the house, settling down on the decking that leads to the garden. There’s a scary moment where Alex doesn’t know whether to sit next to John, like his body automatically wants to do, or next to Lafayette. Laf decides it for him, though, grabbing his hand and yanking him down so he’s sitting between Laf’s legs, nestled in the open V that they make and leaning back against his chest. John awkwardly hovers for a moment before situating himself across from them, leaning back on his hands and leaving the six pack of beer between them.

Alex leans forwards and draws the beers towards him, knowing that Lafayette will want one and desperately needing one himself. His breath hitches for a second, against his will, when he reads the label. _Samuel Adams_ curls around the glass and Alex rubs his thumb against the name, his heart aching just slightly.

“It’s been ages since I’ve had a Sam Adams,” he says quietly and John cracks a small smile at him. Lafayette hums behind him and Alex gets it together enough to pass the beer back, wrinkling his nose up when he hears Laf open the top with his teeth, but he passes another back so he can open Alex’s too. Alex gestures vaguely between the beers and John but John shakes his head just slightly.

“Go on, have one,” Lafayette says brightly, kicking a bottle towards John with his foot. “We are to get drunk at gaze at the stars, it will be a bonding experience.”

Alex snorts because, _what stars_? It’s New York for crying out loud, you wouldn’t be able to see stars through a telescope with all the light pollution let alone with the naked eye.

“Go on,” Lafayette says again, gently goading, and Alex blinks back to the moment to see John biting his lip anxiously.

“I probably shouldn’t, I have Frances,” he says and Alex translates it to: _I probably shouldn’t, I’m a lightweight and will probably break my hand trying to punch a wall_. Alex won’t say anything though, because he’s not supposed to know that John is a lightweight, that John gets loud and passionate when he’s drunk, because they’re not supposed to know each other. They’re strangers for the duration of the week, strangers, strangers, strangers.

Lafayette kicks the bottle towards him again, his gangly legs not even straining to reach it, and John seems to give in all at once. His shoulders slump and he snatches up the bottle, cracking it open with his teeth like Lafayette had, taking a long swig from it. He exhales a satisfied sounding sigh after he swallows, his throat moving, and Alex has to look away quickly.

“Just this one,” John says, tipping the neck of the bottle towards them. “We’ll get properly drunk at tomorrow’s bachelorette party.”

Lafayette makes a noise behind him and it vibrates through Alex’s spine where they’re pressed together. “You are going to both, _oui?_ ” he asks and John nods.

“There are two?” Alex asks dumbly.

“One for Eliza and one for Adrienne. Since I know them both, I’m going to both,” John clarifies.

Lafayette tugs on his hair a little. “Adrienne’s is tomorrow, and I’m in charge, which means you have to dance with me.”

Alex immediately groans. “No, Laf, please, I value my ability to walk too much.”

“I thought you guys got together through dancing?” John says, his voice confused and his eyebrows drawn together. Both Alex and Lafayette scoff loudly.

“We spun a nice story, one that’s PG-rated and that they’d all approve of,” Alex explains. Lafayette rests his chin on Alex’s shoulder and nods, digging into his bones.

“It probably wouldn’t have gone down so well if we’d told them we got drunk and fucked,” Lafayette says and Alex elbows him, hard.

“He didn’t need to know that,” he hisses, skin hot and tight. God, John really doesn’t need to know that, he doesn’t _want_ John to know that.

Part of him wants to let John know that this is a ruse, that he’s really single and totally available, and Laf stating their weird friendship out of context really isn’t helping that. He’s aware that he can’t let John know, but part of him hopes that John will be able to tell anyway, that he’ll intuitively, instinctively, be able to tell that Alex is lying about all of this, but he knows deep down that it’s false hope.

He also knows that it’s unfair to Lafayette to even think about it. He made a promise, he made a commitment, and here he is wishing for a way out of it. What kind of shitty friend is he that he’d abandon Laf now, leave him in the lurch? He berates himself internally, taking a long swig of his beer, the familiar flavour sitting on his tongue and making him feel bitter.

He puts the beer down, nudges it away from him, not wanting to drink it and swallow all the memories it contains. He closes his eyes, leans back against Laf, lets him cradle him in a sweet and familiar embrace. He tunes out the murmurs of conversation that John and Lafayette are continuing and concentrates on the soothing vibration of Laf’s voice through his body, the rhythmic stroke of his fingers on Alex’s belly, the chill in the Spring air. Breathes deep. Lets it wash over him.

Laf shakes him awake some time later, the sky properly dark and all the beer bottles empty, including Alex’s, which means Lafayette finished it off for him. He’s sleepy, tired, his eyes heavy and hard to keep open, and Lafayette herds him through the house quietly, carries him up the stairs. He can hear the gentle thud of John’s steps behind them, and he peels his eyes open far enough to make out the blurry figure of John loping after them. He peers through his sticky eyelashes, sleepily memorising how John looks, tired and a bit drunk, swaying with it, his eyes warm and dark, his cheeks red and his freckles standing out. Murmurs romantic nonsense into Lafayette’s shoulder before he can stop himself, and Laf shushes him, pats his back. Alex closes his eyes again, his heart beating painfully against his ribs, and mumbles an apology into Laf’s neck even though he won’t understand what it’s for.

Lafayette tugs on his hair and looks down at him, concerned, pausing on the stairs when Alex’s tears start to soak through his collar.

“ _Petit lion_ , what is wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet and worried.

“Is he okay?” John asks behind them. “He barely drank anything.”

“John is right, _mon amour_ , if any of us is crying is should be me, I drank the most. Remember when I took four tequila shots and made you watch Bambi with me?”

Alex snorts wetly, remembering how Lafayette had wrapped himself in a burrito of sad blankets and sobbed all through the movie, clutching onto Alex and not letting him move.

“You bitched about how red your eyes were for like three days after,” he mumbles, chuckling weakly.

“We are not watching sad films,” Lafayette reasons, “So why are you crying?”

“I just love you a lot,” Alex answers honestly, blinking up at him. Lafayette softens even more than he already was, his eyes warm and happy.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, kisses Alex gently, chastely, holds him close. Irrationally, more tears slip down Alex’s cheeks at the sincerity of it, the sweetness, the honesty.

John clears his throat behind them and there’s the sound of him shifting on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he says, his voice low, and squeezes past them on the stairway, not an inch of him making contact with either of them. He stops a few steps up, hesitates, then turns around again.

“I hope you feel better in the morning,” he murmurs, his eyes lingering on Alex for a heavy second, and Alex is helpless against watching him go.

Lafayette adjusts him in his arms and Alex wraps his legs tighter around his waist, moulds himself into Lafayette’s body and pliantly lets himself be manoeuvred, lets Lafayette dump him on the bed, slip his shoes and his jeans off, roll him up in the blankets and cuddle up behind him.

Lafayette’s skin runs too cold, and his knees are knobbly and sharp, but Alex folds himself as close as possible, sinking into the feeling of being loved. Lafayette kisses his hair, his shoulder, the side of his ear and Alex almost cries all over again, weak with it, but instead he lifts Lafayette’s hand and presses a kiss against his knuckles.

While it’s true he wouldn’t be here, in this mess, if Lafayette hadn’t invited him, but he’s unbelievably glad that he’s got his friend here, supporting him whether he knows it or not.

Lafayette sighs into his skin, murmuring a good night platitude, and Alex rubs his fingers gently over his knuckles and tries to quiet his mind before he sleeps. Tomorrow is another day, a fresh start, and he sends up a quick prayer to whoever's listening that they make it easier for him, that it stops being so goddamn hard.

 

.

 

As much as it seemed like a joke the day before, Henriette actually does insist they come with them to pick up the rings, and Alex sticks close to Lafayette and tries not to hightail it out of the shop, surrounded by symbols of love and commitment and utterly distressed by it. The fourth finger on his left hand itches, irrationally, and he shoves his hands in his pockets and pastes on a fake smile, trying not to count the seconds until he can get out of there.

Henriette and Jean invite them to lunch and Lafayette looks so happy about it, glowing and bouncing on his toes, that Alex can’t help but fondly lets himself get sucked into the tornado of Lafayette’s family and tries not to get chewed up and spit out. It turns out that Jean and Henriette have made it a family affair, inviting Adrienne and all her brothers and sisters and their significant others too. Jeanne hands baby Phillippine to Alex as soon as she sees him, knowing that Alex is far too polite to say no and far too enamoured with babies to ever think of putting her down, and Phillippine coughs a little into his shirt but mostly sleeps through the lunch. Alex has to awkwardly eat around her, trying not to knock his elbows into her tiny body, holding the fork with his left hand alternating it with his knife so he doesn’t let go of her.

It’s easy to slip into French and eat salad, smile when Lafayette puts his arm around him, laugh at the jokes his family make. He looks happy here, in his element, telling wild stories about his adventures in America while Adrienne butts in with ridiculous stories of Lafayette’s youth until he ducks his head into Alex’s shoulder and whines loudly, embarrassed. Alex laughs, works his fingers into the tie holding back Laf’s hair and pulls it out, letting it spring around his head adorably like an unrestrained curly halo.

They get eyed kind of weirdly by some of the other guests in the hotel restaurant, a boisterous group of French speaking people, all white and blonde, save for Alex and Lafayette who stand out like beacons of colour among them. Alex does his best to ignore it, sips at his cold water instead, lets the ice run down his throat and cool his insides.

Adrienne’s siblings and parents cite a need to be tourists for another day once the lunch is over, so the three of them catch a taxi back to the house, Alex crammed in the middle seat because he’s the smallest, Adrienne gushing about the spa Lafayette booked them all into for the afternoon in his ear. Alex raises his eyebrows at Laf and his friend rolls his eyes, fond but exasperated.

“You can skip it, stay in your library,” he mutters.

“You know me so well,” Alex says happily, his brain starting to plan what work he’ll get done today.

“Alexander doesn’t do anything but wash his face with water before bed,” Lafayette leans over Alex to stage whisper to Adrienne, who gasps.

“ _Non!_ ” she cries, turning horrified eyes onto Alex who shrinks back.

Lafayette nods sagely. “I tried to get him into a routine, introduce him to the finest products, but _c’est intuile_ , he will have none of it.”

“I don’t want that goop on my face,” Alex mutters darkly.

“Goop!” Lafayette practically howls in indignation and Alex cringes. “You’ll be jealous of my goop when your eye bags have eye bags, eh? You’re going to become old and horrible and I’m still going to look twenty five and I’ll have to leave you for another man, one who does more that just splash water on his face.”

Alex blinks at him. “Are you quite finished?” he asks and Lafayette’s fingers shoot up and twist his nipple, making Alex yelp, and he goes to muttering under his breath and staring dramatically out the window. Alex tries for sympathy from Adrienne but she just shakes her head sadly at him.

Eliza comes and greets them when they arrive at the house, giggling when Adrienne picks her up and spins her around, going up on her tiptoes to kiss her fiancée sweetly, soundly, and Alex looks away to give them a moment to themselves.

Lafayette pays the driver and then offers a piggy back to Alex up the ridiculous steps to the house which he happily accepts, burying his face in Laf’s hair and breathing in his clean smell. Eliza and Adrienne wander up with them, swinging their joined hands between them, glowing with love.

“Where are the rings, can I see them?” Eliza asks when they reach the top and Lafayette lurches to a stop, eyes wide, and blinks rapidly. Alex rolls his eyes and shoves his hand inside Lafayette’s blazer, feeling around for the little bag nestled in there, and dangling them in front of his face. Lafayette breathes a sigh of relief and squeezes Alex’s thighs in gratitude.

Eliza tips them into her hand, smiling tenderly down at them and trailing her fingertips over the metal, a pretty rose gold colour. Alex can imagine how they’ll sit on their fingers, matching, making themselves at home there for the rest of their lives. Has to look away suddenly, feeling choked.

He digs his heels into Lafayette’s thighs and Lafayette mutters under his breath that he’s not _un cheval, Alexander, calm yourself,_ but obediently carries Alex the rest of the way up the steps and all the way into the library, dumping him on the sofa there.

“You are going to be alright?” he asks unnecessarily.

Alex raises his eyebrows and spreads his hands, casting his gaze towards the stacks packed with books. “I have good company,” he grins, “Better than you, anyway.”

Lafayette snarls and jabs his fingers into Alex’s ribs, making him squeal and curl up, squirming away.

“I am fantastic company, thank you very much, you should be honoured to be my boyfriend,” he tells Alex, sniffing with his nose high up in the air, looking down on Alex from above. His face cracks into a grin, though, and he drops a kiss on the tip of Alex’s nose and sashays away, towards the door.

“Be nice to me, or you won’t get any of this,” he calls over his shoulder and grabs his own ass and if Alex had anything at hand to throw at him then he would. As it is, he flips the bird viciously at Lafayette’s retreating back even though he knows he can’t see it and huffily drags himself up to drag all the papers and books he’d left on one of the tables towards him, shaking his head to clear it before starting in on his work.

He remembers how he used to spread out his books all over the tables in the library, glaring at anyone who came close and only leaving a small amount of space for John, who would come find him in the evenings and smile fondly down at him before popping in his headphones and starting his own work. This was before anything happened between them, when they were just best friends and roommates, when Alex had had a monumentally huge crush on him and he’d felt like he was up shit creek with no paddle, convinced John couldn’t like him back.

It’s a pretty reliable assumption that once Alex starts working he won’t really be shaken out of it until he himself decides he’s finished. Sometimes, though, he’d look up, crack his knuckles and rub his eyes, and his gaze would linger on John across from him. John would always be looking somewhere else, never at Alex, and he’d feel a deep pang of longing inside him, that John would just _look_ at him, would just _see_ , but then he’d take a breath and fix his eyes back on the harsh light of his laptop and get sucked back in.

Once John had fallen asleep, the hour far later than what would have been considered reasonable for a college student to still be studying, and the library had cleared out of practically everyone but them. The lamplight had been soft and sort of yellow, making John’s skin glow, and Alex only really noticed because he needed one of his books for a quote and John had fallen asleep smack bang in the middle of it, the pages making creases in the skin of his cheek, digging in, pink and sweet. Alex remembers blinking at him, unconsciously memorising the image in his head, how John’s hair had started to frizz a little bit, how his cheek was smushed up against the page and bulging just a little, how his eyelashes spread like inky smudges across the tops of his cheekbones, his freckles so densely packed, a whole other layer of beautiful brown on his skin, how they edged across the bridge of his nose so delicately that Alex wanted, wanted so inexplicably badly, to press his lips there.

He’d closed his laptop, slow, started gathering up his books and papers as quietly as possible, returning them to their designated shelves with soft footsteps and packing all his things in his bag with care. He’d not disturbed John or the book, leaving them for last, taking one last second to commit to heart how John looked right then, his upper half splayed out across the table, his legs bunched up beneath him, his stupidly overlarge sweater looking so soft and warm. He remembers being irrationally jealous that the fabric got to drape itself all over John, that the table got to feel the press of his chest, that the book knew what the curve of his cheek felt like.

He’d crouched down and shook John’s shoulder, his heart aching sweetly at the sleepy noises John made as he peeled himself off the book, and Alex smiled at him, guiding him upwards, tucking the book under his arm and letting John lean on him, walking back to their dorm with John’s nose practically buried in his neck and steering him into bed, pulling the sheets up under his chin and petting his hair, watching as John slipped back into sleep.

He nearly snaps the lid of his laptop with the force that he opens it and he takes in a shaky breath, groaning out loud at the path his mind had taken him. He shrugs off all thoughts of forlorn pining and slips into work mode, channelling all his frustration and pain into banging out some serious studying, relishing in the satisfying grind of it, the way it takes over all his thoughts and pushes everything else away for a few hours.

Lafayette returns with his skin glowing even more than it usually does and he drags Alex out of his little hovel and into the soft afternoon sun, out onto the garden where everyone is gathered, holding little sandwiches in their hands and sipping homemade lemonade. Alex accepts a hug from Frances who practically throws herself at him, yelling his name in his ear happily, and he scoops her up in his arms and asks her if she’s up to the grand task of choosing which kind of sandwich he should eat.

She wiggles out of his hold once she’s selected cheese sandwiches for them both and stumbles across the grass on her short legs to plop herself at Adrienne’s feet and demand that her hair be braided. It’s fucking adorable and Alex tries very hard not to stare at her too much, catching John’s eyes once and turning away quickly, hot under the collar.

Someone brings out a radio and they stick on some music, the tunes filling the warm Spring air and floating through the garden, and Peggy slips off her shoes and starts to dance in the grass, pulling Angelica up with her. Frances joins in very quickly, giggling and stamping her feet, and Lafayette pulls Alex up and alternates between twirling him around dizzily and just holding him close, swaying, humming gently into Alex’s ear.

It gets to about seven in the evening and Frances starts to wilt, tiny yawns spilling out her mouth and her big brown eyes blinking closed sleepily, and John ignores her soft protests and puts her to bed. Adrienne, having consumed several glasses of bubbly sparkling wine instead of lemonade, declares that it’s time to start getting ready for her bachelorette party and all her siblings yell various enthusiastic French obscenities as they all file into the house, Alex tangling his hand with Laf’s as they trail after them.

Despite his afternoon of pampering, Lafayette still has a whole routine to get through before he feels ready to go out, so Alex is left dawdling a little, dressed up in one of his smartest shirts and some tight jeans because, fuck, if Lafayette insists on dancing with him then they’re going to _dance._

He hadn’t thought, when packing this shirt, that John would be here. He remembers how John had bought it for him, holding the fabric up against Alex’s chest and dropping a quick kiss on his lips, skipping to the counter and paying before Alex could even look at the price tag.

“You need nice things,” John had said, “I’ve got money, and I like treating you. You need to look smart for this interview, and now we’ve got the shirt we can build the suit around it,” and he’d ignored Alex’s whining, his indignant protests, instead spent the afternoon picking out the perfect suit for Alex’s interview. Alex had felt a little useless and had snuck off to buy John some flowers, sunny yellow ones, and the smile on John’s face had been so fucking radiant that Alex had to take a moment just to breathe through it.

He smooths down the sides of the shirt, carefully ironed and folded before he’d packed so he’d look presentable for Lafayette’s family, and wonders if John will remember. Will he remember standing behind Alex in the mirror and putting his hands on his waist, petting his hips, murmuring that he’s going to be brilliant in his ear? Will he remember catching Alex’s trembling fingers as he went to readjust the knot of his tie for the sixth time and kissing them, slow and gentle, his eyes warm and reassuring, telling him he’s being silly, that he’s going to ace it, there’s no way Columbia Law won’t accept him?

Alex remembers all of it, remembers the kiss John had given him in the doorway, his tongue moving in Alex’s mouth thick and slow, him whispering that he has a surprise for Alex later, _it’s something good, you’ll like it, I promise baby girl._ Remembers how his knees had bounced up and down in the waiting room before his interview. Doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said in the interview but remembers walking out feeling relieved, happy, and confident. Remembers John smothering him in kisses and both of them laughing against the door until John had stepped back, started to strip, and revealed the soft satin panties and matching garters he was wearing, powder blue with little white bows and frill, so pretty against his skin, and Alex had dropped to his knees and sucked him off through the fabric, ate him out right there on the living room floor, John’s long legs over his shoulders and his panties rucked to the side, wet from Alex’s tongue.

He glares at himself in the mirror, angry that his cock has started to thicken just slightly against his thigh, and tries to concentrate on the sound of Lafayette’s humming coming from the bathroom. Goes and watches Lafayette get ready, lets him dab some creamy stuff onto Alex’s face and carefully drag a mascara brush through his lashes. Draws the line when Lafayette comes at him with a black pencil that gets perilously close to his eyeball and squirms away, laughing at Lafayette’s pout.

They’re the last downstairs because Lafayette apparently decides to annoy Alex specifically and carefully style every single curl on his head to make sure it looks perfect even though he’s not going out to get laid tonight since they’re, for all intents and purposes, _boyfriends,_ and Alex hisses this at him through gritted teeth, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thighs, and Lafayette just hums and ignores him entirely.

“I could be getting laid,” Lafayette muses, eyeing Alex up and down. “You look very nice tonight.”

Alex snorts inelegantly and glares at him. “As the fuck if, Laf, now please get your stupid shiny shoes on so we can _go._ You’re the one in charge of this bachelorette thing, shouldn’t you be down there corralling everybody?”

“You can’t rush beauty, _mon amour_ ,” he sings and Alex rolls his eyes, disgustingly fond of him in this moment.

"I thought your beauty is  _natural_ ," Alex shoots back and Lafayette smacks his ass in retaliation, ignoring Alex's wounded shout.

It’s clear that John remembers the whole shirt-buying experience and everything that happened while he was _still wearing the shirt_ and fucking John with his tongue on the living room floor, because his eyes go wide and he chokes on his drink. Eliza frowns at him and pats him on the back, takes his beer away and replaces it with a tall flute of champagne, swans over and hands one to Alex and Laf too, smiling.

“A toast, before you all get too drunk to care about propriety anymore,” she announces and holds her glass aloft. Everyone raises theirs as well and Adrienne floats over to her side, wrapping her arm around Eliza’s waist.

“To my fiancée, who in a few short days I’ll be calling my wife, the love of my life and the most beautiful thing France has ever produced,” she grins and everyone happily holds up their glasses, Alex surreptitiously elbowing Lafayette when he grumbles that _he’s_ the most beautiful thing France has ever produced, thank you very much. He graciously allows Adrienne the title, however, for the way she glows under Eliza’s gaze.

Everyone mingles for a little bit, drinking more champagne than is strictly necessary, leaving Alex tipsy and dizzy, clinging to Lafayette and giggling into his shirt collar. He avoids John, who seems to be avoiding him anyway, because John is wearing a black shirt that’s almost sheer, open at the collar and and as far down as his nipples, showing off all his freckles gathered on his chest like some sort of Jackson Pollock painting of different shades of brown, a great crowd of little marks that Alex used to press kisses into and rest his cheek on. He sighs, takes another sip of champagne, and holds onto Lafayette tighter.

The taxi drivers come and knock on their door eventually, and the Schuyler sisters all moan as they prepare to leave, pouting.

“You get your own day tomorrow,” Adrienne laughs, trying to appease her fiancée, peppering her face in little kisses until Eliza pushes her away, only to pull her back in, smiling widely.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Eliza whines, frowning over exaggeratedly, tangling her fingers with Adrienne’s.

“Lafayette will look after me,” Adrienne laughs and Lafayette swoops in, kisses Eliza on the cheek and starts to lead Adrienne away.

“I will be her Prince Charming, her knight in shining armour, I will protect her with my life,” he calls over his shoulder and Eliza giggles.

“You better not steal her away from me!”

“Been there, done that,” Lafayette and Adrienne say at the same time. “And anyway,” Lafayette continues, “I’ve got my lovely Alexander.”

Alex snorts. “Nice of you to remember me.”

Lafayette blows him a kiss and Alex pretends to bat it away, laughing and stumbling when Laf abandons Adrienne to dig his fingers into Alex’s side and make him squeal, undignified and giddy from the alcohol.

They trip into the taxi cabs, all of Adrienne’s siblings shouting French and Lafayette joining in, his voice loud in Alex’s ear, and he steers Alex to a cab without John in it, for which he’s indescribably grateful, despite Laf not being aware of it. He presses his forehead against the glass of the window and lets the streetlights flash by behind his closed eyes, lets himself breathe for a second. In out, in out, in out. The yellow and orange lights flicker in his vision and he presses his head harder into the glass, getting lost in their patterns.

 

.

 

“So, what do you think?” John’s voice comes from behind him and Alex peels his forehead off the window and turns towards him.

“It’s nice,” he says slowly, unwilling to commit. It _is_ nice, that’s the thing, it’s fucking gorgeous and he wants to live here with John for the rest of his life, wants to make this space a home for the both of them, but it’s large and it’s expensive and he’s not a goddamn trust fund baby, he’s not the son of a rich Southern Senator, there’s no fucking way he could afford this.

John frowns, wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, sways their bodies from side to side gently. “Nice?” he repeats, “That’s it? Nice? This place is more than nice, Alexander, it’s perfect.”

Alex swallows, ducks his head. Nods. John tips his chin up, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asks lowly, close and intimate. Alex casts a glance at the showroom lady who’s pointedly looking the other way and sighs heavily.

“Look, I could-” he swallows, heavily. “I could never afford to pay rent here.”

John’s eyebrows draw together. “Well, you don’t have to. I’d pay, obviously.”

Alex squirms out of his grip, wraps his own arms around his waist, and glares at him. “Obviously? What’s that supposed to mean?”

John’s eyes widen and he steps forward, a plaintive look on his beautiful face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I know that our financial situations are different, I’m aware that you have less money than me, but this place would be _ours_ and I’d be happy to have you pay as much as you can afford and then I’d fill in the rest.” He steps closer, smoothes his palms down Alex’s shoulders. “It’s my dad’s money, anyway. Think of how much we’ll be sticking it to him if we use it to fund our gay lifestyle,” he grins.

Alex snorts automatically, a tiny grin playing at the corners of his mouth. John’s eyes light up immediately and he smiles, sweet, and murmurs _there we go_ under his breath like Alex is some kind of stubborn cat that won’t come out from under the couch.

John presses a kiss to his knuckles, has the showroom lady lead them around the place one more time, dragging Alex from room to room and exclaiming happily, and a month later they’re moving in, surrounded by boxes of all the stuff they’ve amassed in their two years rooming together, bickering over where the cutlery drawer should be.

Alex scrapes together what little of his savings he can spare and splurges on a bed frame, beautiful and wrought iron, with dozens of bars that twist together to form the headboard and baseboard. John smirks when Alex pulls his fingers away from where they’d been covering his eyes, presenting the bed to John with a flourish, and John tackles him onto the new mattress, uses his belt to tie Alex’s wrists to the headboard, and spends a good hour ignoring Alex’s cries for mercy as he flicks his tongue over his nipples, the head of his cock, teasing against his hole but not giving him what he actually wants, what he _needs_.

“You want it?” John asks, breathing heavily, his lips slick with spit and his freckles standing out against the flush of his skin. His shirt is unbuttoned and he’s still wearing his jeans, his _shoes_ even, and Alex is naked from the waist down with his t-shirt rucked up to his armpits, squirming and whining, so turned on that his brain is hazy with it, his vision swimming.

John places his palm over Alex’s cock, just rests it gently there. “Work for it,” he commands, and Alex bucks, confused. “Come on, come on,” John says sweetly, “Ride my hand like I know you can, move your hips baby.”

Alex sobs and tentatively starts to cant his hips up, rubbing his cock against John’s palm, but the angle isn’t right, there isn’t enough friction, it doesn’t feel _good_ enough. He grunts, licks his lips, tries to fuck into John’s hand, tries to get him to curl his fist around his dick properly but John just shushes him, watches him with dark eyes.

“You can do better than that, come on, Alexander, come on,” he urges, grinds the heel of his palm down into Alex’s balls. Alex shouts, arches his back, grinds his hips up again and again and again but finds no relief. John tuts, rubs his fingers into the wet head of Alex’s cock, teasing his slit, getting his fingers sticky and shiny with Alex’s precum.

He continues to rub his fingers in circles there, just over the head, and Alex feels tears leak out the corners of his eyes, oversensitive and twitching. John mouths at his nipples, stiffens them into peaks in his mouth, hums around them, bites, gets them wet and swollen and sensitive and then abandons them, taking the wet heat of his mouth leaving them to cool in the air. He laves his tongue over Alex’s neck, sucks on all the points he knows make Alex jerk, rubs his fingers harder against Alex’s slit.

He sobs, sweat sticking to the sheets, arching his back and gasping. The press of John’s fingers on the head of his cock borders on painful, so sensitive, but it’s so good that he starts to feel the wave of his orgasm tingling at the base of his spine, his breath hitching, his toes curling up. John whispers _yes, yes, yes,_ in his ear over and over, not touching him but for his fingers on Alex’s wet slit, and he comes hard, a long whine tearing out his throat and his breath punching out of him in one go, the force of his orgasm taking the wind right out of him.

John takes his fingers away once Alex has stopped jerking but he replaces them with his mouth, sucking on the head of Alex’s cock and licking up his come from where it’s painted against his belly.

“Stay hard for me, gonna go again, gonna make you come again,” he mumbles, nuzzling his way down Alex’s thighs and licking a stripe across Alex’s hole. Alex fists his hands in the straps of the belt, his back arching, gasping at the continued onslaught of John’s mouth.

He goes cloudy on it, hazy, and everything narrows down to John working his tongue inside of him, pressing two fingers alongside and working him open. He presses mercilessly against Alex’s prostate, his tongue flicking against his rim, murmurs _like this, like this,_ until Alex comes again, his cock jerking painfully against his stomach and his eyes rolling back.

John adds another finger, whispers _again_ , pushes Alex’s legs up over his shoulders and leans forwards to kiss him, fucking his tongue into Alex’s open and pliant mouth, soft from orgasm. At this angle he can hear the obscene squelching noise John’s fingers make as he strokes them into Alex, too much lube making it wet and messy, but he shudders and clenches down, high on the sensory overload.

“Come on, baby girl, can you come again, on my fingers, like this?” John asks, his voice low with lust. His pupils are so blown and dark that Alex’s breath hitches, moaning at how turned on John seems to be. He whines though, unsure and high strung, every inch of him feeling like an exposed nerve. He’ll never get enough of John’s fingers in him, though, it’ll never stop feeling good, and he hisses as his cock twitches against his stomach, limp but starting to fill out once more.

“That’s it, you can do it, God, Alex, baby, you look fucking fantastic, all tied up with nowhere to go but onto my fingers,” John groans. “Do this for me, baby, baby, you can do it, I know you can,” he continues to babble, curling his fingers inside Alex and rubbing against his walls. Alex writhes, grinding down on the digits inside him and gritting his teeth, feeling his body pulse, getting ready for another orgasm to bloom over him.

He sobs as he comes, cries out John’s name weakly over and over and John shushes him, pulls his fingers out. “One more,” he says quietly and Alex thrashes against the restraints.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he pleads, his eyes wet.

“You can, I know you can, you’re so good for me, my baby, my sweet precious baby girl, _querida_. You want my cock for this one, this last one, I know you can do it,” John insists, sweeping his hands in soothing circles over Alex’s trembling body.

Alex scrunches his eyes shut, choking on his tears, and nods quickly. John kisses him swiftly, shuffles back to pull his shirt off over his head and strip off the rest of his clothes, dumping them carelessly on the floor and crawling over Alex, untying his hands and bringing one down to his cock.

“Can you feel how hard I am for you?” he asks, squeezing Alex’s hand down his shaft. He’s big and hot under Alex’s palm, swollen, an angry red colour that betrays how long he’s gone without touching himself, patiently working Alex through three orgasms before even taking his dick out of his pants. Alex moans, twists his fingers around John’s cock in the way he knows he likes and isn’t disappointed when John grunts and cants his hips forward, fucking into Alex’s fist.

“My lovely, sweet Alexander,” he sighs, taking Alex’s hand away, gripping Alex’s thighs and pulling them apart. He shuffles down, inspecting Alex’s hole, probably red and puffy, open, shiny and wet with too much lube. He hums, sucks a kiss directly over his rim, sinks three fingers back in and spreads them.

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing Alex up, lingering on his soft dick, still lying spent on his belly. Alex nods frantically, angling his hips up, begging for it with his body. John groans, grips Alex’s thigh tighter and guides his cock in, the head of it catching deliciously on his rim and stretching him, sinking deep and settling inside of him in one smooth stroke.

Alex sighs happily, wiggles his hips. John kisses him gently and Alex uses his hands, now free, to tangle his fingers through John’s curls. John kisses him again and starts to piston his hips, sliding his cock smoothly in and out of Alex in long slow strokes, the head of it dragging against Alex’s rim and making him cry out and clench down, hypersensitive.

It’s not long until John speeds up, sweating and trembling, chasing the heat of Alex’s body wrapped so tightly around his dick. The sounds they’re making together are shockingly lewd, slick wet noises as the lube squelches around John’s cock and the slap of his hips against Alex’s thighs, his balls against his ass, and it makes Alex gasp, makes him shudder, makes his cock twitch against his belly.

John grunts, fucking into him quick and dirty now, the thick head of his cock hammering against Alex’s prostate with every thrust and Alex clenches down, his prick swelling, his skin feeling like it’s on fire.

“You’re so good,” John’s saying, his voice thick. “So good for me, so tight and hot, _Alex_ , fuck, oh fuck-” he pants, grinding his cock into Alex as deep as he can reach and coming in long bursts. The spill of him is warm and wet deep inside and Alex’s eyes roll back at the sensation, coming immediately, completely dry and crying with the force of it. John shakes over him, thrusting his hips a few more times and working his come properly into Alex, before pulling out with a wet sound that makes Alex shiver.

John runs his palms over his skin, peppers kisses all over his stomach and thighs, and goes easily when Alex weakly tugs him up and presses their mouths together.

“I like this bed,” John murmurs against his lips, and Alex giggles, squirming.

“We’ll have to change the sheets,” he whispers and John hums.

“Not if I clean you up,” he winks and Alex groans, lets his body go limp and John spread his legs, tongue at his hole again and start to suck.

“That’s so gross, stop it,” he whines, pushes at John’s hair. John just chuckles, curls his tongue deeper, laps inside of him and draws his seed out.

“I’m just getting you clean,” he blinks up at Alex, his eyes full of false innocence.

“You’re trying to get me to come again, aren’t you,” Alex says flatly, and John grins. Ducks his head and goes back to licking into him, sucking his come out. Alex can hear him swallowing every now and then and groans, spreads his legs, resigned to his fate.

John rubs his thumb into Alex’s knee, over and over, and it’s soft and loving and-

“Alexander?” Lafayette asks, his thumb dragging over Alex’s knee through his jeans, gently shaking him out of his thoughts.

He grins. “We’re here,” he gestures to the building the cab is pulled in front of, and Alex blinks rapidly, his forehead feeling numb from where it was pressed against the cold window.

“Where did you go?” Lafayette asks, his eyes kind and curious and Alex flushes, hopes to God it doesn’t show up on his skin, and shakes his head.

“Daydreaming,” he murmurs, and Lafayette waggles his eyebrows.

“About me, I hope,” he winks and Alex chokes out a short laugh, feeling strangled.

The bar isn’t very crowded considering it’s a Thursday night and only just gone nine, and they all stretch out across several booths, buying rounds and just chatting. Alex gets sucked into a conversation about the upcoming British referendum about whether to stay in the E.U., laughs when Louis insists that the British can fuck off and argues about trade routes and taxes and a whole bunch of economic nonsense that he pulls off the top of his head.

Eventually, Françoise claps them both on the shoulder and tells them they’re being boring, dragging them into a game of coaster flipping that he, apparently, is the reigning champion of. Adrienne and Angélique fight him viciously for it and Adrienne comes up trumps. Alex has a sneaking suspicion that Françoise let her win out of the kindness of his own heart for his big sister.

They move to another bar, Lafayette leading them to it because it’s a ‘surprise’ and Adrienne screams and throws herself at him when it’s revealed that he’s taken them to a drag show. Apparently, Adrienne is very addicted to RuPaul’s Drag Race and she happily sips on bright cocktails through various curly straws and throws her money at the girls performing on the stage. Alex sits back and watches, appreciating their bright and colourful outfits, their expert makeup, their flawless lipsyncing.

It’s fun, and Alex finds himself singing along when Beyoncé comes on, laughing at Lafayette as he flirts with the waitresses and buys Adrienne more fruity drinks. The girls are more than happy to take pictures with them and Adrienne poses for about a hundred, nattering away in slurred French until Lafayette gently detaches her and herds their party towards the exit.

They settle in a bar with two floors, one for dining and the other for dancing. They soak up some of their alcohol with bowls of fries, plates of halloumi and hummus and various salads, little quiches and dishes of salmon in creamy sauce, and Lafayette attempts to throw peas into Anne’s mouth with various degrees of success.

Their party has gotten smaller, Adrien citing bad health and Jeanne wanting to get back to Phillippine, but they’ve gotten progressively louder with the more they drink, and they’re verging on bawdy as they spill up the steps and onto the dance floor. Lafayette grabs Alex and John, yells that they need to take shots, and drags them both through the crowds to the bar. It’s past midnight and the club is starting to heave with bodies so Alex sticks close, even though he’s uncomfortable with John’s presence, his spine crackling with awareness of John’s body, how near he is, how warm he is.

Lafayette orders six shots, tequila of course, and huddles Alex and John to his sides as he lines them up on the bar, thanking the barman with a wink for the limes and salt. Alex follows his lead and wets the web of skin between his finger and thumb with his tongue, shakes some salt out over it, watches John do the same through his eyelashes. Lafayette yells something indecipherable and licks his hand, slams the shot back, and shoves the lime in his mouth, grimacing. Alex laughs and follows him, savouring the burn down his throat and sucking on the lime longer than necessary, loving the sharp tang of it on his tongue.

They all do it again, finishing off the rest of the shots, and Alex catches John looking at him with wide eyes as he wets his hand again. He lowers his gaze, swallows the shot automatically, feels a little adrift when Lafayette spins around and grooves onto the dance floor, leaving Alex and John at the bar, alone.

John opens his mouth, closes it again, pursing his lips. Leans in, and shouts over the din, “I need to talk to you.”

Alex swallows, feeling like he needs another drink even though he can already feel the shots working through him, takes a deep breath and helplessly follows John out to the fire escape.

There’s a cinder block next to the lip of the door that clearly there to prop it open and John nudges at it with his shoe so the door stays open enough to not lock them out but closed enough that no one would be able to see them without really looking. Alex holds his breath, his skin prickling in the cool air, rests his hands on the metal of the fire escape bars. Hopes his palms go numb. Hopes he catches a cold and has an excuse to stay in bed for the next few days, avoid everyone but Lafayette and never have to see John again, or his little girl. His heart hurts just thinking about it and his eyes sting but it would be for the best, he knows, he _knows_ it, but it’s a painful truth.

“You look nice,” John says finally, shifting on his feet. “I remember… Buying that shirt,” he mumbles and Alex blinks at him, sets his mouth into a straight line, gives nothing away.

“What did you want to say?” he asks, cutting off John’s bullshit before it really gets going and can hurt him even more than he’s already hurting.

John swallows, runs a hand through his short curls. Stutters, “You know I didn’t follow you, right?”

Alex frowns, confused. “What?” he asks dumbly.

“New York, I’m- You know I’m not in New York because of you, right?” he elaborates and Alex looks away into the inky night to hide the hurt that passes over his face. He _knows_ , fuck, does he know, John knew he’d stay in New York all his life, he’d never leave the city he loves, and John moved back and didn’t reach out to him, knew he was still living there, knew exactly where Alex would be, and didn’t try to find him.

“I know,” he says dully, his voice flat and heavy. “Why are you-” licks his lips, “Why are you bringing it up?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was, like, stalking you or something,” John mumbles. Alex’s face contorts into an expression of bewilderment and John flaps his hand, averting his eyes. “It sounds stupid now I’ve said it but I just wanted to… Make sure.”

 _Make it clear_ , Alex translates in his head. John wants to drill it into him that there’s nothing there anymore, that three years and a daughter has made it fade away, that he’s sincere in his request to be friends and is implying the _and nothing more._ Alex nods, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth. He gets it.

“You already explained, you moved up here for the job Eliza offered you, for Frances, it’s fine John. New York isn’t _my_ city, I don’t have some sort of claim over it, I didn’t win it in the divorce,” he jokes and they both wince. Alex swallows down the beat of fresh pain that washes over him, thinking inexplicably about Eliza and Adrienne’s rings, thinking about his and John’s fingers, bare.

He clears his throat. “Anyway,” he musters up a strained smile, “It’s not a problem, New York is a big place.”

John looks at him, his eyes unreadable, then blinks away and clenches his hands around the railings. “You said you moved apartments?”

Alex nods slowly. “I couldn’t afford the rent on the old place, obviously, so I found a new place. It’s smaller and not as polished but it’s got the same windows,” he grins weakly. “I’ve got a roommate, Hercules, he and his best friend Cato live with me, so it works out pretty well, rent wise.”

“It’s smaller?” John enquires. His voice is quiet, low, and Alex has to lean closer to hear it over the spill of the music out of the crack in the door and the sounds of the city heaving at night. “Is it- Is there room for the bed, still?”

Alex breathes in sharply. “There wasn’t room, I had to sell it.”

John nods, his eyebrows drawn together, looking troubled. “Of course,” he murmurs, “Makes sense,” which ironically _doesn’t_ make sense to Alex at all. He wishes he could climb inside John’s mind, parse out his thoughts, figure out what the _fuck_ he’s thinking right now.

“Was a good bed, though,” John says, and there’s a smirk on his face. Alex’s skin gets hot immediately, hoping that it’ll pass off as flush from the alcohol and night air, but from the growing smug look on John’s face he knows he’s failed.

He steps forward a little, crowding Alex with his broad shoulders and tall frame against the wall of the building. The moonlight is doing him fucking wonders, illuminating his skin and throwing all his freckles into relief, his curls backlit around his head like a halo. Alex drops his eyes, focuses his gaze on the freckles that sit at the base of John’s throat, the little dip that Alex used to lick sweat out of. It doesn’t help, of course, and he clears his throat.

“I remember that bed fondly,” John muses. Alex raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, and John grins down at him.

“I remember changing the sheets with you, and you’d always get so tangled up and frustrated until you’d stomp off and leave me to do it on my own. I remember you’d insist on having about seven blankets piled on top of us at all times, even in the summer heat, and you’d get all sticky and hot and refuse to get rid of them.”

Alex grumbles, averting his gaze from John’s face, the way his eyes are shining and his teeth are showing with the force of his smile, unabashed in his delight. His eyes eyes settle on the gaping collar of John’s stupidly sheer shirt, almost see through in the moonlight, and he realises that John’s managed to cage him in tighter against the wall.

They’re almost pressed together like this, John hovering over him and Alex shrinking back against the wall, fighting the impulse to sway into John and give in entirely. He can smell John’s cologne, the fresh warm scent of it, and it surrounds him like a blanket of familiarity, making his head spin.

John ducks his head, lifts Alex’s chin with the pad of one of his fingers, careful, gentle. His eyes are dark.

“John,” Alex breathes, whimpers his name, like a prayer, like it’s the one thread keeping him together. He wants- he just _wants_ , wants to lean up or John to lean down, he fucking _wants_ it.

“ _Alexander_ ,” John whispers back, reverent.

Alex feels the ghost of his lips against his own, the shape of his sweet cupids bow, tastes ever so briefly the tequila lingering on his breath before the sound of the door banging open echoes through the air. They jump apart like they’ve been shocked, and Alex jerks his head back so quickly that it whacks against the brick of the wall and immediately starts to throb.

“Oops,” giggles a girl, her lipstick smeared around her mouth as a heavy set man gropes at her waist. “Didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

“I was just leaving,” Alex mutters, not looking at John, pushing past the two strangers and back into the bar.

“ _Querida_ _,_ ” John calls after him but Alex shakes his head, feeling sick to his stomach, blinking back tears.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ and he can see Lafayette on the dance floor, bopping his head of wild curls and laughing as he gets ground up on by strangers. _Lafayette_ , holy shit, he can’t believe he got so caught up in John that he forgot about Lafayette, didn’t even consider him, not even for a second. He rubs at his eyes, hating himself vehemently, and shoulders his way through the throng of people to get to Lafayette, cling to his side and push his head into his shoulder.

He can see John stop short where he’s trying to get through the crowd too, blink a little, then turn and walk away. Alex closes his eyes, tries not to let out the sob clawing up his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Lafayette asks, his voice alarmed. He strokes a hand through Alex’s hair and Alex shakes his head, not wanting to talk. He feels Lafayette drop a kiss to the crown of his head, whisper, “ _Mon amour, mon coeur,_ my Alexander,” over and over until Alex pulls away, sniffing.

Louis shimmies his way past and scoffs at them, tells them off for indecent public displays of affection, and Alex laughs wetly when Lafayette flips him off and yells back some choice French phrases.

“You want to leave?” he asks, searching Alex’s eyes, concerned.

“I want to dance,” Alex sighs, tugs on Lafayette’s hand, musters up a smile.

Lafayette looks at him for a second, hard, seeking if he’s lying, but smiles back at him eventually, placing his hands on Alex’s hips and starting to sway, immediately stepping on his toes and making Alex laugh.

He sticks close to Lafayette the rest of the night, and Lafayette doesn’t complain, only lets go of Alex to pour Adrienne safely into a cab. They sweat off most of the alcohol on the dance floor, neither Lafayette or Alex drinking any more than they already had, and they stumble back into bed mostly sober if a little uncoordinated.

Alex doesn’t bother to wait for Lafayette to drape himself all over him, instead climbs all over Lafayette, burrows his face in Laf’s warm chest and breathes in the sticky scent of alcohol and sweat, a combination he’s licked of Laf’s skin many a time. It’s kind of gross but Lafayette rolls him up in his embrace, his long arms cradling Alex against him, and he rocks into a heavy sleep, all of his regret weighing him down and pulling him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c'est intuile: it's useless or no good - un cheval: a horse


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think,” his train of thought is interrupted by John’s voice, sounding a little nervous, “That I could talk to Lafayette, later? Alone?”

When he wakes, he’s too hot, too sticky, and he feels disgusting. Everything is gross, from the taste in his mouth to the throbbing of his head all the way down to how the backs of his knees are stuck to Lafayette’s legs, sweaty and uncomfortable. He peels himself away with a whimper and flops onto his back, spreading out as much as Lafayette’s gangly body taking up all the space in the bed will allow. Rubs his head into the pillow. Bites off a cry of pain when the throbbing intensifies.

Lifting a hand to the back of his head, he feels a raised bump at the top of his skull, tender and aching unpleasantly. His brow furrows, his mind still muddled, and he wonders how the fuck he managed to bruise so badly. Did he hit his head against a wall- Oh. He blinks up at the ceiling, his eyes filling with moisture, and feels the spasms of heartbreak and misery settle heavily in his chest.

 _John_. Jesus, last night had been such a disaster. He can’t believe how close John had been, how close _he_ had been to doing something so utterly stupid that he wants to kick himself over and over and over. Self flagellation. He settles for pressing his fingers into the bruise on the back of his head and ignoring the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He deserves it, deserves this pain, deserves to live in agony for the rest of his life.

How could he do this to Lafayette? Is he such a terrible friend that he’d forget about him entirely in the face of John and his curls, his warm eyes, his freckles, the sweet curve of his lips? Apparently, he is.

He sinks into the mattress, feeling sorry for himself and staring blankly at the ceiling, tears trickling out of his eyes like a tap that he can’t quite shut off. He feels removed from them, numb, and he’s cried so much over the past few days that he thinks his brain might just have given up processing it.

He can’t quite grasp how angry he is at his own behaviour, how disappointed he is that he’s not been able to keep a clear head throughout all of this. He’s known for losing his cool, for being hot headed, but it usually sharpens him, makes him hyper focused and able to function at a higher level than normal, but the system that has never failed him in the past has crashed so disastrously down around his ears in the wake of John. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t prepared, but he knows that’s a weak excuse. He’s usually so keen that his brain can formulate arguments on the fly, fight back so quickly that his mouth finds it hard to keep up, and here he is, silently weeping into the pillows, wholly disabled by his dizzying heartache.

 _Querida,_ John had called him. Like his mind had slipped up and mistakenly thought it was years ago, when they used to fight and John would grab Alex’s wrists to stop his fists, hold him tight, squeeze his bones together, mutter sweet nothings in Spanish until Alex calmed. How strange it was that John was usually the one gunning for a fight, that he’d be the one who would sit in mulish silence on the kitchen table as Alex dabbed at his bleeding knuckles with antiseptic cream, that he’d be the one who’d go out some nights looking specifically to start something, leaving Alex behind, anxious and chewing his lips, bitten and raw. And yet, whenever they fought, John would be the calm in the storm. He’d be the one who’d plant himself like a tree and stubbornly refuse to give up until Alex would slump into him. _Never go to bed angry,_ he used to say, and they never did. John would sweep his palms up Alex’s back and into his hair, call him _querida_ over and over.

Alex didn’t go to bed angry last night, he went to bed _exhausted._ Maybe John thought he could stop Alex from running away, but then again, why would he want Alex to stay? They almost _kissed_ for fucks sake, Alex had felt the faint brush of John’s lips against his and had given himself over entirely to it, shivering and submissive against the wall. But John had said he wanted to be friends, right? Confused, he sniffs and turns over, fixing his eyes on his sleeping friend.

Lafayette sleeps hilariously, his mouth open and his hair fluffing up everywhere, pillow creases lining his cheeks. It’s basically the only time he’s not perfectly put together and Alex loves observing it, this small piece of Lafayette that’s just for him, so intimate and trusting. Rationally, he supposes that other people have seen Lafayette like this, vulnerable and imperfect, but it feels like a secret all the same. He reaches out and runs a finger softly down Lafayette’s nose, huffing a wet breath of laughter when his friend scrunches his whole face up.

Lafayette grumbles, his eyebrows drawing together, and one of his feet kicks out and smacks Alex in the shin. He winces, hisses a pained breath from between his lips, and Laf’s eyes blink open in bewilderment, then, all of the sudden, widen.

“ _Oh, putain_ , Alexander,” he says, his voice croaky. “What’s the matter?”

Alex looks at him for a second before realising that he’s crying, still. “Oh,” he says thickly. “It’s nothing, I’m just being silly.”

“You’ve cried a lot these past few days,” Lafayette says slowly. “I heard you in the shower yesterday. That is not normal, Alexander.”

Alex winces, thinking about how he’d stood in the shower with his head against the cool tiles, tears running down his cheeks, for a long time, until Lafayette bustled in and demanded they share because Alex was taking up all the hot water.

Lafayette brushes his thumb under Alex’s eye, catching the wetness of his eyelashes, and sighs. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, “Because we forgot to take your makeup off last night and it’s running everywhere.”

Alex’s hands fly up to his face and he presses shaky fingers to his cheeks. Sure enough, when he pulls them back to look at them, there’s black stains from the mascara that’s melted off his lashes. Even that small failure makes him miserable and he whimpers, sucks in a sharp breath.

“You stay here,” Lafayette says, petting his hair. “I’ll get up. Don’t move.”

Alex doesn’t. Stays where he is as Lafayette drags himself out of the bed, curls up tight in the warm spot he’s left behind. Lafayette returns with a wet wipe and gently turns Alex over, dabs the messy tracks of mascara off his face, hums as he does it. His own eyes have been wiped clean of smudged mascara and eyeliner and he’s looking down at Alex so softly that Alex has to look away, not able to meet his eyes, because Lafayette is perfect and Alex doesn’t deserve him.

“There we go,” Lafayette murmurs, smiling softly. “You’re all pretty again. My Alexander,” and he presses a firm kiss on Alex’s forehead. Alex blinks up at him, his breath hitching.

“Lafayette,” he says, then stops. “Laf- Why have we never actually dated?”

Lafayette peers down at him, his brown eyes deep like a reflecting pool, and Alex all of the sudden feels scrutinised, like he’s under a microscope.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Laf says slowly. “I suppose we could, if you wanted to give it a go.” He raises his eyebrows and puckers his lips, looking down at Alex with a leer. Alex snorts, then his eyes fill up again and he squeezes them shut, feeling more tears leak out. Laf brushes his thumbs under his eyes and makes a noise of confusion, probably getting whiplash from how fast Alex is skipping through emotions.

“I couldn’t anyway,” Alex mutters eventually, his voice thick. “I couldn’t-” he licks his lips, “It wouldn’t work.”

Lafayette shushes him, stroking his fingers over Alex’s brow. “Why not?”

“Because-” Alex stops and a sob forces its way out of his chest, much to his unending misery. “Because John and I used to _date_ ,” he finds himself saying.

Lafayette blinks, his face frozen. He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I think we’re going to need coffee for this,” he says after a prolonged silence. Alex nods. Slams his head back into the pillow. Winces in pain.

Lafayette makes a concerned noise and lifts Alex’s head up, pressing his fingers straight into the bruise. Alex yelps and Lafayette gives a startled cry, letting go of him immediately, making Alex drop straight back onto the pillow again and whack his bruise.

“What is that?” Lafayette asks incredulously. “How did you-” he cuts himself off, blinks down at Alex and frowns. “It’s something to do with John, isn’t it?” Alex nods again. Lafayette heaves a massive sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to go downstairs to get us breakfast and explain to everybody that we are taking the morning off. Then I’m going to come back upstairs, we’re going to eat food, you’re going to let me take a look at your head, and then you’re going to explain,” he flaps his hands about, “Everything. Just- Explain all of it, _d’accord?_ ”

“ _D’accord,_ ” Alex mumbles. Lafayette nods decisively and leaves the room, leaves Alex alone with his thoughts and his stupid, treacherous heart.

Lafayette returns some ten minutes later carrying a tray with some bananas and toast on, a glass of orange juice, and an entire carafe of coffee. Alex immediately sits up from where he was staring dully at the ceiling and reaches for the coffee, making grabby hands like a child. Lafayette hands him it without complaint, watches him pour out a cup with only mildly shaking hands, and continues watching him as he slathers his toast with peanut butter and drops chopped up pieces of banana on top of it in a neat square pattern. Alex avoids his eyes, uncomfortable with all the words they’re not saying.

Lafayette forces him to eat some toast along with the coffee he’s inhaling and has Alex lean forward so he can check out the back of his head while Alex munches on his breakfast. He prods his fingers around the bruise, making Alex hiss, and rumbles placating noises while petting Alex’s hair.

“It’s a nasty bump,” he sighs, then fixes Alex with an unimpressed look.

“I hit it against a wall,” Alex mumbles, wincing.

Lafayette narrows his eyes and then takes the cup of coffee straight out of Alex’s hands. Alex makes a noise of protest, reaching after it, but Lafayette glares at him and he slumps back down on the bed. He’s tempted to pull the covers over his head like a child, but Lafayette pulls him up so they’re both sat cross-legged on top of the mattress and holds Alex’s hands, stroking his fingers over his knuckles, repetitive and soothing.

“So,” he says, breaking the silence. “You and John.”

It’s a clear prompt and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, mentally saying goodbye to the best friendship he’s had in years and resigning himself to his fate as a friendless asshole who never does anything but lie and betray people.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” is what he starts with. Lafayette’s brow furrows and he squeezes Alex’s hands, reassuring.

“I’d rather know exactly what it is you didn’t tell me than have you apologise for something I don’t understand yet.”

Alex swallows and musters up every last piece of courage he has. “A very long time ago, I came to the U.S.A. for college and I was assigned a roommate. John was that roommate,” he says and his voice only wobbles a little bit.

“This goes back a long way, eh?” Lafayette murmurs and Alex sniffs, nods, and Laf squeezes his hands again. “Continue,” he says softly.

“Okay so-,” Alex blinks a little, trying to think of what to say. “John and I were always… Very close, very affectionate. I had a massive crush on him. I was young and stupid and I didn’t think he’d ever like me back but then-” his breath hitches, “But then he did like me back. And we started dating about half way through our first year of college and we didn’t break up until- Until we graduated, actually.”

Lafayette whistles, long and low. “So this was serious,” he states needlessly and Alex nods, looking down at his lap.

“It was serious, we were- We were in love. We were so in love that we moved in together and I-” his voice stops, chokes on the well of emotion that slams into him. Lafayette shushes him, tangles his fingers with Alex’s, brings them to his lips. Whispers _I’m here, I’m here_ over and over until Alex remembers how to breathe again.

“I proposed, on a sunny day in March, a day just like this one,” he whispers. “And John said yes, he said _yes,_ I couldn’t- I couldn’t believe it, he’d made me the happiest person alive, he wore my ring on his finger and it was the most- Just, the _most_ I’ve ever felt, it was incredible. I felt like I was flying.” His words trip up over each other, rushing out of his mouth like a dam has broken and he’s helpless to stop them.

“Alexander,” Lafayette breathes, and there’s pain in his eyes when Alex looks into them.

“Anyway, we were happy. We were together in New York and we were gonna get married and it was going to be amazing. Our entire lives were spread out in front of us. I was living the American dream, the one I’d spent so long imagining back home, and John was the most perfect person on the face of the Earth, he could do no wrong in my eyes. But John’s family, they were a little more difficult,” he laughs bitterly at the last bit, pulling his hands out from under Lafayette’s and rubbing at his eyes, hard.

“John’s family, you see- They’re from the South, they’re all from the South, and they come with certain _Southern_ leanings. I never met any of them, just heard the stories John would tell. His mother died young and his father was never a warm man, and he was always particularly harsh on John. They’d get into shouting matches over the phone and John’s hands would always shake whenever his father was in town. They’d meet for lunch but John never invited me, always said he didn’t want to involve me in his family drama, said that I’d only get angry and it wouldn’t end well.”

Lafayette’s looking at him with big sorrowful eyes and Alex finds himself surprisingly detached from it all, relaying the story like it had happened to someone else. For once, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry. He just feels numb.

“One day, some time in the Summer, John’s father came to New York and requested they meet for their usual lunch. I said I wanted to go with him, I wanted to meet his father officially before we got married, because his family was going to be my family soon enough and I wanted to know what I was in for. John insisted I stay at home, said that me being there would only make things worse, said that he’d tell his father in his own words that he was getting married,” he sighs deeply, preparing himself for the next part.

“Anyway, I kissed him goodbye at the door like usual and when I went back into the kitchen, I noticed John’s wallet was still on the table. So I grabbed it and went back to the hall to give it to him, but I saw-” his breath hitches again, his throat clogged with an unnamable emotion. “I saw him taking his ring off,” he continues.

“This is not going to end well, is it?” Lafayette says nervously and Alex rolls his eyes.

“Well we already know that, considering we’re not together anymore,” he snaps and Lafayette raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex mutters, shaking his head. Lafayette’s eyes soften and he gestures for Alex to go on, to finish the story. Alex swallows and steels himself for the inevitable.

“So he’s taking his ring off and, you know me, my mind works at about six hundred miles an hour, so I immediately jump to _he’s having an affair._ Which is ridiculous, because John loves- _loved_ ,” he corrects himself painfully. “He loved me and he would never, John is the most loyal person I know. But my brain won’t stop being paranoid so I decide to follow him.”

Lafayette winces and Alex nods. “Yeah, that’s never a good idea,” he intones.

“Love makes fools of us all,” Lafayette says quietly. Alex sucks in a sharp breath.

“So, anyway, I’m following him down the street at a reasonable distance, right, like they do in the movies. And he gets to a restaurant, and my brain is like, _it’s a date,_ even though I _know_ he’s meeting his father for lunch, which includes eating food, probably at a restaurant. I get a table some ways away from him so I won’t be seen but I can still hear.”

“Should I be worried about your apparent skill at spying?” Lafayette asks, sounding mildly alarmed.

“If there’s anyone you should be worried about _spying_ then it’s Hercules and Cato, both of them are like goddamn cats, utterly silent and with eyes everywhere,” he says seriously and Lafayette nods, acquiescing.

“Stop distracting me,” he chides and Lafayette presses a hand to his chest as if to say, _who me?_ Alex glares at him.

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” Lafayette nods rapidly, his curls flying. Alex’s lips curl up involuntarily before he sobers up for the next part.

“So a man who’s must be John’s dad comes and sits opposite him. They don’t look much alike because John’s got all his mother’s genes but I’d seen pictures of Senator Henry Laurens before so I knew it was him. They shake hands and they start talking and John… Doesn’t mention me once.” He swallows. “I mean, he took off his ring, logically that means he’s hiding our engagement but I didn’t think he was hiding me entirely. And then his dad starts talking about how John needs to find a good girl and marry her, how he can set him up, how John should settle down and start a proper family. And John just goes along with it. Doesn’t mention me at all. Doesn’t correct him and say that he’s gay, that he’s very gay, that he’s getting married to another man. Just lets his dad talk and talk and talk about these girls that John should be dating. That’s when I realise that John wasn’t out to his family.”

“Oh Alexander,” Lafayette sighs, “I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as me,” he mumbles, blinking rapidly. Lafayette’s face is too hard to look at right now, all huge sad eyes and pouty lips, so Alex focuses on his hair, but even his _hair_ looks sad somehow.

“So I go home. And I wait for John. Except when he comes through the door, he’s got his ring on again and he kisses me and I just… Don’t say anything. And it sits and it seethes inside of me for weeks while I try and figure out what to say, because I don’t want to run my mouth and say the wrong thing but at the same time I can’t _believe-_ I just can’t believe that he’s not out.”

He sighs heavily, remembering how tortured he’d been all those weeks. Every time he saw John he was so worried he’d blurt something out. He had to find the exact right words and say them at the exact right time but it turned out that there were no right words and there was no right time and all the time he’d spent waiting and thinking it over had started to corrode at their relationship, until he’d started flinching every time John came close.

“I know that everyone comes out in their own time,” he says in a low voice. “Some people don’t come out until they’re sixty or seventy, so I can’t fault John for taking his time. I wasn’t going to push him, force him to come out, it wasn’t my place. But I couldn’t help but be angry because he’d misled me. He talked all the time about how his family didn’t approve of him, of who he loved and what he wanted to do with his life, and that implies, I mean, it really implies that he’d come out to them and they’d not reacted well, right? I’m not crazy, he misled me, probably not deliberately, but he did, right?” he asks desperately, not sure if he actually wants an answer or not. To his dismay, Lafayette nods sadly.

“I can see how you could have felt that way,” is all he says, his voice quiet to match Alex’s.

“And I was angry that we were going to get married and he wasn’t out. Was he just never going to mention it? Keep taking off his ring, _our_ ring, every time someone from his family comes into town and hide me from them? I know it was wrong to even think it but why did he say yes in the first place if he was going to keep me, keep us, a secret? Did he think so little of me?” He rubs a hand across his mouth, getting caught up in all his emotions like they’re fresh again. Lafayette watches him quietly, waiting.

“It all came eventually to a head and while I made it clear that I wasn’t going to push him to come out if he wasn’t ready, I also said that we couldn’t get married until he was. It just didn’t sit right with me, I couldn’t be his dirty little secret, I couldn’t start our marriage like it was something shameful,” he chokes out. Closes his eyes. Remembers John’s face when he’d said the words, the silence that rang out in the kitchen. Remembers how John’s hands had shook when he twisted off the ring.

“He took it as an ultimatum,” he says dully, his chest feeling hollow and scraped raw. “Gave me back the ring, packed up all his stuff, moved back to South Carolina. It’s why I was such a mess when we first met. It’d only been about two months since-” he can’t find it within him to finish the sentence.

“I still have the ring,” he whispers. “It’s in that locked draw in my desk that you’re always so curious about.”

“I thought you were keeping your most scandalous sex toys from me,” Lafayette mumbles and a wet laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob rips from Alex’s throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, wiping his eyes. “When we first met and at the start of this week. I didn’t know he was going to be here and it caught me off guard and he decided to act like we didn’t know each other already and I didn’t want to burden you with my drama when you’re stressed enough already as best man,” he rambles and Lafayette shushes him, presses a finger to his lips.

“I understand, _mon ami,_ don’t fret. I wish you had told me, yes, but I understand why you didn’t.” It’s quiet for a moment until Lafayette looks at him from under his eyelashes, soft and kind.

“You still love him, don’t you?” he says at last. Alex doesn’t even nod, just looks at Lafayette with wet eyes and his friend knows him well enough to hear him without him ever speaking the words. He reaches out and pulls Alex into his lap, lets Alex bury his face into his shoulder and shake for a few minutes, dragging his palm up and down Alex’s back and murmuring soothing French in his ear.

“So what happened last night?” he asks once Alex pulls himself away.

“He- We took those shots, and he said he needed to talk to me, so I followed him out onto the fire escape. And he explained that he didn’t come back to New York for me, so I shouldn’t think that,” he recounts bitterly, his mouth tasting sour. “I don’t know how it happened but we were… Close, so close, and we almost kissed, but then this couple interrupted us and I jerked back and slammed my head into the wall.”

Lafayette makes a soft sound from the back of his throat, like a chirp. Alex gazes at him, his friend who’s always been so supportive and affectionate, who’s always intuitively known what Alex needs, and wonders what he thinks of him now.

“I’m so sorry, Laf, I am, I’ve lied to you and I’ve been going around almost kissing other men when I’m supposed to be with you-”

“- _Pretending_ to be with me,” Lafayette interrupts and cocks an eyebrow at him. “It’s okay, Alexander, I understand. You must be feeling a lot of things right now.”

“I’ve been a terrible friend,” Alex insists, looking down at his hands. Lafayette tilts his chin up, cups his face in his palm.

“You are a wonderful friend. You agreed to join me in this mad scheme in the first place, and you’ve been perfect the entire time. You’ve obviously thought about my feelings and I appreciate that. I love you, very much, and I forgive you. This week must have been very hard,” he says softly. Alex feels his gratitude and relief crash over him like a wave and he sways into Lafayette, turning his head into his hand and kissing the centre of his palm.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, and Lafayette tuts.

“I’ll love you no matter what. If you kill someone, I’ll be the first one to turn up with a shovel.” Alex manages to choke out a laugh at that.

“You need to talk to John,” Lafayette says after a moment’s pause and Alex is shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence.

“I just want to stay here with you and never have to deal with it all,” he mumbles and Lafayette shakes his head sharply.

“You have unfinished business, you need to talk to him.” He peers at Alex with big eyes, imploring. “You need to tell him you love him.”

“He said he wants to be friends,” Alex says, sounding pained even to his own ears.

“Then why did he try to kiss you?” Lafayette asks, a funny look on his face. It pulls Alex up short, though, and his brain tries to apply logic to the two conflicting pieces of information.

“Why _did_ he try to kiss me?” he says slowly, and Lafayette nods encouragingly.

“Talk to him, figure it out,” he insists, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Alex’s ear.

Alex shakes his head to clear it, his heart thudding in his chest with premature hope. “He’s moved on, he’s- He’s got a _daughter_ , a baby girl, we always said we wanted to have a baby girl,” he murmurs, his vision distant, before he snaps out of it and focuses back on Lafayette’s face. “And anyway, we’re still pretending to be together.”

“I’ll take one for the team,” Lafayette grins, “The team of true love,” but Alex shakes his head, refusing to go back on his word.

“No, we made a commitment, and we’re going to go through with it. It’s been three years, it’s been too long, no matter how many foolish drunk almost-kisses happen, it’s… Too hard,” he says stubbornly.

Lafayette frowns at him, flat and unimpressed. “You’re scared,” he accuses.

“I’m not,” Alex protests, puffing his chest out.

“ _Mon petit lion_ has no roar,” Lafayette shrugs.

“Get back to me when you get your heart ripped out of your chest several times by the same person,” Alex shoots back, his voice hard, and Lafayette blinks in surprise, seemingly taken aback by Alex’s vicious tone. He softens immediately, reaching out and squeezing Lafayette’s hand, muttering apologies under his breath.

“I only want what’s best for you,” Lafayette murmurs. Alex takes a deep breath and smiles at him, a little soft and a little sad.

“What’s best for me right now is lots of cuddles and avoiding the problem entirely. I want to get through this wedding without all my drama crashing down on top of everybody, I don’t want to ruin Adrienne and Eliza’s big day.”

Lafayette narrows his eyes at him. “You are somehow being immature and mature at the same time. I don’t know whether to be impressed or not.” Alex fires little finger guns at him because he never misses an opportunity to be an asshole and Lafayette tackles him to the mattress, tickling his sides and making him wail.

They waste away the morning lounging in bed until Lafayette gets a text from Adrienne begging him to sort out the flowers and they drag themselves into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Lafayette manhandles him into the shower, stroking careful fingers through Alex’s hair and huddling up close behind him, their slick wet skin pressed together, not an inch between them. It feels nice, it feels right, to touch Lafayette like this and have no more secrets between them. Lafayette scrapes his nails across Alex’s belly, making him jolt, and his smacks Laf’s hip, sniping at him to stop trying to get his rocks off and ruining the moment.

Lafayette applies his makeup in the mirror while Alex dries his hair, marvelling at how smooth and silky it is from the expensive conditioner Lafayette had insisted on massaging into his hair. Lafayette makes soft little noises and plays with it, scrunching it up into what he calls space buns on top of Alex’s head and only lets them down when Alex glares flatly at him, pouting. He begs Alex to let him plait his hair and Alex is helpless against the combination of Lafayette’s huge brown eyes, his big pouty lips, and his annoying as hell whining, so he gives in and stands patiently as Lafayette runs his fingers through his hair and tugs his head this way and that, starting the plait high at the top of his head and carefully avoiding pressing on his bruise. He pins up the stray hairs at the base of Alex’s neck that don’t quite fit in the braid, because Alex’s hair isn’t as long as it used to be, and all in all it looks quite nice. Lafayette smacks a kiss to his cheek and wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, sighing and swaying their bodies together, watching them both in the mirror.

“I love you very much,” he says, his eyes locked on Alex’s in the mirror. Alex’s lips twitch into a small grin.

“And I you,” he replies, his voice thick.

There’s a cooing noise from the doorway and they both turn to see Adrienne with her phone out, gazing softly at them and sighing happily.

“What beauty,” she smiles and Alex ducks his head, embarrassed. He feels weird that someone else just saw that exchange, but at least she’ll be convinced of their relationship for sure now.

“Chop chop,” she says, twirling on her feet, her long blonde hair fanning out behind her. “The flowers aren’t going to arrange themselves!”

Lafayette rolls his eyes and lets go of Alex, loping off into the bedroom to pull on a shirt, and Alex slumps into the counter, trying to prepare himself for human interaction again.

He grabs Lafayette’s arm before they leave, his fingers pressing into the sleeve of Laf’s shirt, and his friend peers down at him with concerned eyes.

“Could you,” he starts, then licks his lips. “Do you think you could just… Keep me away from John today? I don’t think I can be around him right now.”

Lafayette stares at him for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before his face smoothes out.

“I still think you should tell him.”

“I’m not- I’m not ready to put myself out there like that,” he stammers, averting his eyes.

Lafayette sighs heavily, pulls Alex into his chest and presses a kiss to his hair. “I understand. It will be just me and you today, I promise. I will look after you. I will punch John in the face if he comes near you.”

Alex snorts, imagining it. Lafayette’s a decent fighter, scrappy and enthusiastic, but he doesn’t have the experience and passion that John has. It would probably be messy and terrible rather than something resembling a sensational harlequin romance novel.

The day is hot and sticky, the sun high in the sky, and they end up sitting in the garden surrounded by the flowers for the wedding, stringing together arrangements since the flower shop double booked them and didn’t have time to do it themselves. Lafayette leads him through making the little bouquets for the wedding party and starts in on arranging the flowers for the table displays himself. Alex is fine with this arrangement: Lafayette has an eye for colour and beauty and Alex likes routine, so stringing together the same arrangement over and over again is just fine with him.

It’s quiet, only Lafayette’s grumbling and random exclamations and the sounds of the birds piercing the otherwise still silence. It’s soothing, exactly what Alex needs, and he gets lost in the repetitive motion of placing the flowers together until Lafayette drops something onto his head and he blinks out of his daze.

“What-” he starts, reaching a hand up to his head. He carefully feels around and finds that Lafayette’s created a small flower crown with the spare or unworthy flowers and placed it on his head. He’s grinning sunnily at him and Alex can’t find it within him to do anything but huff a short breath, readjusting the crown on his head so it sits better. Lafayette sticks his tongue out at him and pops a crown of his own on his head, arranging it so it frames his hairline, striking a pose.

“There,” he chuffs happily, “We match.”

“Couples flower crowns,” Alex murmurs and stretches out, taking Lafayette’s interruption as a prompt for a small break. The sun is high in the sky and he splays himself out on the grass, letting his eyes flutter closed, breathing in the Spring air deeply.

Lafayette places his head on Alex’s stomach, and they lie there for a while, blinking sleepily up at the clouds, still and quiet and lazy.

A shadow passes over them eventually and Alex squints upwards, trying to get his eyes to focus.

“Not to interrupt the moment but we’re all inside, waiting on you so we can kick off Eliza’s bachelorette party,” Angelica says, looking down at them with her hands on her hips. Lafayette pulls himself off Alex with a groan, pushes himself up on his elbows, and makes a face at her.

“What time is it?” he asks and Angelica checks her watch.

“A little after four.”

Lafayette blinks. “They’re starting early.”

Anglica nods sagely. “I think Eliza thinks that the earlier they start then the quicker they can get through it and the sooner they can get to the actual wedding day. She’s starting to get impatient.”

Lafayette makes a noise of understanding, hauling himself up and dusting off his shorts. Alex tugs on his shoelaces, pulling a miserable face at him.

“I don’t think I can…” he starts but Lafayette holds up his hand, smiling kindly.

“I’ll give her your apologies, she’ll understand, don’t worry. You look after yourself,” he says gently and Alex closes his eyes in relief. He can hear the sound of Lafayette’s feet thumping softly on the grass as he walks away and he realises that he’s been left alone with Angelica.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, bluntly curious. Alex winces.

“I’m not feeling so great,” he says vaguely and Angelica narrows her eyes.

“You’re not feeling so great,” she repeats flatly. “Would it happen to do with the same reason why John’s not feeling so great?”

Alex swallows, unable to help the way his heartbeat spikes. “John’s not feeling well?” he asks, as innocently as he can muster, but it doesn’t work out so well for him considering his voice cracks half way through the sentence.

Angelica rolls her eyes. “You two are terrible, I swear to God, if it wasn’t my sister’s wedding I would have smacked your heads together ages ago.”

Alex wrinkles his nose up at her. “There’s no need to be so violent,” he mutters childishly.

Angelica just throws up her hands and stomps off and Alex is left alone on the grass, surrounded by flowers, his own thoughts his only company. They’re not good thoughts either, most of them are sad, centred mostly around John, circling and getting sucked in like water down a drain.

He shakes his head, rubs his eyes, stands upright with creaking bones. Gathers all the little bouquets he’s made and carries them into the dining room, placing them on the large table with the arrangements Lafayette’s made, big and blooming, waiting patiently in glass jars filled with water for the big day.

He fumbles his way up the stairs, the beginnings of a headache pushing at his temples, scrunching up his eyes and trying to ignore the strains of loud celebrations coming from one of the sitting rooms. He runs his fingers over the banister as he climbs the stairs, the cool varnished wood feeling inexplicably satisfying under his fingertips.

There’s not much to do but flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, drumming his fingertips on his stomach. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows he’s going to be useless if he attempts to do any work right now; everything he writes will just come out as utter drivel. No, he’s going to lie here and wallow in his anguish until either Lafayette forces him back into human interaction or he dies.

Dramatic, he knows, but he’s always had a streak a mile wide for the theatrical.

He thinks about how John would plant himself in front of Alex when got like this, hard and strong, and glare at him until common sense came knocking. Thinks about how John didn’t even try that last time, didn’t do anything but twist the ring off his finger and make Alex take it back. He remembers how hard he’d squeezed his fists together, not wanting to let John drop the ring into his palm, not wanting to make it real, and how John had pried his fingers open and pressed the ring into the centre of his hand, closed his fist around it again, his fingers lingering on Alex’s knuckles.

His throat feels thick and his eyes sting like they want to cry again but he’s pretty sure he’s all tapped out for the rest of his life. His tear ducts have taken a serious beating these past few days and he’s honestly not sure if he could produce another single tear if his life depended on it. He breathes deep, lets all the air in his chest out in one long billowing exhale, and closes his eyes.

 

.

 

He’s woken some time later by Lafayette, shushing him as he mumbles groggily into the now dark room. He’d fallen asleep in his jeans and shirt, the flower crown still on his head and now crumpled beyond repair, and Lafayette giggles a little as he plucks it off Alex’s head and tries to throw it in the trash can on the opposite side of the room. It misses, of course, because Lafayette’s slightly drunk and his aim is for complete shit anyway.

He pulls Alex up out of bed and they go through the motions of getting changed for sleep, Lafayette seeming to shut down slowly just as Alex’s brain starts to wake up. He asks if it’s okay to do some work while Lafayette sleeps and he gets a vacant hand flap in response, which he takes as an affirmative. He carefully climbs into bed next to Lafayette, laptop perched in his lap, and starts to type, the stream of words in his mind flowing through his fingers and appearing on the screen.

He loses track of time, a little, hopped up on the motivation that’s seemed to escape him in the past day or so, weighed down by his grief and pain, and is startled out of his stupor at around two A.M. when a group of people clatter up the stairs, shushing each other in an attempt to stay quiet but just creating more noise because of it. He figures it’s the returning bachelorette party, and is proved right when three sets of footsteps stumble up the second flight of stairs and John’s own, a bit heavy and leaden but still recognisable, meander their way down the corridor.

Alex listens to him murmur to himself, humming slightly out of tune under his breath, and then hears the click of a door opening. It must be Frances’ room because his voice goes all soft and Alex can make out tangled Spanish tripping off his tongue. He’s worried for a second that he’ll wake her up, but then he remembers that he’s got no right to be concerned about John’s parenting and also that John’s probably had tonnes of experience in not waking up his baby girl when he’s come home late.

He smacks himself on the forehead and swears under his breath, frantically shushing Lafayette when he mumbles and turns over, his eyebrows furrowing, and takes that as a sign that he should probably go to sleep. He takes a moment though, his bottom lip caught in his teeth anxiously, to listen to John stumble the rest of the way down the corridor and get to his room safely. He breathes a sigh of relief when John lingers outside his door, his body casting a shadow under it, but ultimately does nothing, shuffling to his own room and letting the door click softly behind him.

He wonders why John lingered, why he stopped in front of Alex’s door in the first place. Did he want to say something? Alex isn’t sure if could have handled that. He knows what John’s like when he’s drunk, either sleepy and affectionate with glassy eyes and a beautiful smile stretched over his face, whispering in Alex’s ear all the dirty things he wants to do to him, or raring for a fight, bloodshot eyes and twitching fists as he searches out an opponent.

He lies back down in bed, taking the tie and pins out of his hair and letting it fan over the pillow, a little wavy from how the braid has curled it up over the course of the day. Gazes at Lafayette’s comical sleeping face. Turns over, closes his eyes, and tries to block the rest of the world out.

 

.

 

It’s the day of the dress rehearsal, as it were, and Alex is vaguely aware that they’re going to walk through the ceremony at the church with the priest and desperately check that everything’s sorted and nothing’s out of place. It’s all hands on deck from hereon out and Alex knows he’s going to have to inhale about three pots of coffee in order to keep up with everyone.

He’s standing in the living room, watching the sun come up over the trees at the end of the garden, pale strands of daylight reaching their fingers out towards him. The mug in his palms is warming him gently and he inhales the small stream of steam that rises off his second cup of coffee, smelling dark and bitter and perfect.

It’s early, probably too early to reasonably be awake, but he’d had trouble sleeping in the same way as he’s had trouble sleeping every night this past week and he’d given up at around six A.M. and dragged himself downstairs. He’s wearing one of Lafayette’s hoodies, too big but luxuriously warm, and several pairs of socks because the floors in this house are cold and his circulation is poor to begin with.

He’s trying to calculate exactly how much time there is between now and when he and Lafayette leave, trying not to think about how it might be the last time he sees John for a long time, when he’s interrupted by a small ghost.

He almost drops the mug in his jolt of fright before he realises it’s a tiny, human shaped blob standing under a sheet. A smile tugs at his lips and he tries to smother a laugh, something in his chest bubbling up at the sight of Frances with her blanket over her head and her little arms raised, stumbling towards him and making funny noises.

“Oh no,” he gasps. “It’s a ghost! This house is haunted! I’m so scared!”

Frances shuffles towards him and makes a roaring noise, which is at odds with her spooky get up but he’s willing to accept it. He’s not sure how much she can see from under the blanket and he thinks it would be impolite to laugh at her, so he bites his lip and hopes his shoulders don’t shake too much. She waddles her way over and stops next to him, lifting her arms up and sticking her hands outside the sheet, opening and closing her fists in such a way that he recognises she wants to be lifted up.

“Maybe this ghost is friendly,” he muses, reaching down and placing his hands under her arms, swinging her up onto his hip. “We’ll just have to check, won’t we?” he continues, and playfully tugs the sheet off her head.

He gasps and she giggles, her hair a mess of curls, staticky from the sheet rubbing on top of her head. It just makes her look even more adorable than usual and he scrunches his nose up at her, dropping the sheet back over her head. She squeals happily, wriggling in his arms.

“I thought I saw Frances for a second there, but that can’t be! I’m going to check again,” he says slowly, bouncing her on his hip, and pulls the sheet off her head again.

“Boo!” she yells in her little voice and he fakes shock, forcing his eyes open wide, and she laughs and laughs and laughs, happy peels of it ringing out across the room.

He drops the sheet over her head and pulls it off several times, her laughter never faltering, until she sees something behind him and reaches out towards it, kicking her feet into his belly and making him wince.

He turns around and there’s John, leaning in the doorway, looking like death warmed over. His usually glowing skin is pale and there are swollen half moons under his eyes, but he still smiles so prettily despite it all and Alex feels his heart thump hard in his chest. How many times has he seen John like this, exactly like this, the morning after a long late night? John used to crowd into him and wrap his arms around Alex’s waist as tight as he could manage, bury his head in Alex’s neck and fall asleep standing there.

Now, though, he approaches hesitantly, licks his lips before meeting Alex’s eyes with apprehension and immediately looking away and focusing on his daughter. Alex isn’t sure what he’s projecting, what John just read in his eyes to make him flinch so hard, and an uncomfortable squirming sensation settles in his stomach.

“How’s my baby girl?” John coos, smoothing a hand over Frances’ curls, and she twists a hand into Alex’s hair and tugs sharply, trying to hold onto him and reach for her Papi at the same time.

“Did you miss me?” John’s saying, “Because I missed you. I did, I promise you I did, I missed you so much,” and Alex is ashamed at the path his brain takes him down, his heart aching as if John is saying those words to him rather than his daughter. He gently disentangles Frances’ grip in his hair and hands her off to John, trying his best not to touch him, but it’s inevitable and he suppresses shivers when their bare skin brushes.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he murmurs, and John nods, doesn’t look at him, just bounces a delighted Frances in his arms and heads out the door. Alex is left a little bit at odds and he absently sips the rest of his coffee out of the mug, listening to Frances’ happy noises echo through the house, before he decides to fuck it and just follow them.

He leans in the doorway, unconsciously reflecting John’s position just minutes ago, and watches John cut up pieces of fruit for Frances’ breakfast and repeat in Spanish their names, over and over, while she looks at him with wide eyes.

“You’re teaching her Spanish,” he says after a while, dumbly, because _duh._ That statement is redundant and he hates himself a little for sounding so stupid but John just glances at him, nods tightly, looking strained.

“It’s a big part of my life so I figured…” he trails off, shrugging. Alex kicks out of the doorway and takes a seat at the table instead, pouring himself another cup of coffee simply for something to do with his hands.

“It’s nice,” he says, breathing in the steam. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard so much of the language.”

John mumbles something, probably just an acknowledgement, but Alex doesn’t hear it. He’s a little lost in all the memories his brain has decided to play out inside his head of all the times he and John would speak Spanish to each other. There’s a lot, because they’re both fluent and can slip in and out of languages easy as breathing, and because it sort of became _their_ thing.

Alex was loud about it, fluctuating between speaking four different languages just to watch the way it would make people's’ eyes twitch and also just because it came as easy as breathing to him. He could do it absently, not even aware that he wasn’t speaking English until someone would nudge him and ask him to translate. John was always more quietly proud of his ancestry, of his mother and her country, her language, everything she’d taught him. He’d tell Alex stories of how his mother taught him her words, her traditions, had drilled into him a sense of pride so strong it became unshakable, even in the face of his father’s disapproval. It makes sense, then, that he’d share that connection with his daughter, pass the history down to her.

“Do you think,” his train of thought is interrupted by John’s voice, sounding a little nervous, “That I could talk to Lafayette, later? Alone?”

Alex’s eyebrows fly up. “Lafayette?”

John nods slowly, biting his lip. Alex really tries not to stare at the way his teeth dig in, turning the flesh a reddening pink, but fails spectacularly.

“I know- I know you talked to him about… What happened,” he says, and God, Alex doesn’t want to have this conversation right now.

“He was very weird to me last night, he kept glaring at me, and I know- I know what I did was wrong and it’s not an excuse but I was very drunk and I just want him to know that I’m not that kind of person,” he rambles, heedless to Alex’s distress, looking so earnest and sincere that it’s hard not to just blurt out the truth there and then.

“ _Mierda, no, pequeña,_ don’t do that,” John tugs Frances’ hands away from her mouth, prying out the leafy green tops of the strawberries that he’d cut off and discarded. He rubs a hand over his mouth, glances back at Alex and away again.

“I don’t… _Kiss_ other people’s boyfriends, I’m not that guy, I swear to God I don’t know what came over me, but I just want to make sure he _knows_ that it was all a big messy mistake and it won’t happen again, ever,” he continues and Alex has to look down at the table for a second, compose himself, rub his fingers over the wood to feel calm again. _A big messy mistake._ That’s nice to know. The tiny flame of hope Lafayette had fanned within him yesterday morning is snuffed out brusquely and Alex doesn’t bother to examine the ache in his chest, all too familiar already with the punch to the gut that is heartbreak.

Christ, okay, so it was a mistake, John really does want to be friends and nothing more is on the table, not _ever._ The future he’d sketched out for himself so briefly on the couch that afternoon in the library solidifies before him and he’s left feeling crushed in the wake of it. This is the rest of his life now. Sitting in rooms with John and choking on the words that fight so hard to pour out of his mouth.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says in a croaky voice. Clears his throat. Stands up and looks somewhere just past John’s left shoulder rather than into his eyes. He wants to get out of there as soon as possible but he knows it would look weird if he just legged it out of the kitchen so he goes about pouring coffee into a thermos flask that he finds in one of the cupboards and making up a glass of orange juice for Lafayette, smiling awkwardly the entire time.

Frances pouts as he nears the kitchen door to leave, calling his name, and he closes his eyes for a second, gathering all the strings of bravery he has left in his arsenal. Turns around and gives her an awkward hug, his hands full with the flask and the glass, but she doesn’t seem to care. She tangles her fingers in his hair and gives him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek and his heart just about stutters to a stop in his chest. He leans in, kisses her on the nose, making an exaggerated kissing noise and she giggles. He presses another kiss against her forehead, quiet and sincere this time, because he’s alarmingly aware of how little time he has left with her and how much he’s started to adore her, and he wants to have this, just for a moment.

He pulls back, casts a glance at John. He’s looking between Frances and Alex with unreadable eyes, dark and troubled, a tiny furrow in his brow. Alex forces his lips to pull up in an approximation of a smile, murmurs _hasta luego,_ and then escapes with as much dignity as he actually has left.

Which isn’t much, he knows, because his fingers are shaking around the items in his hands and he has to concentrate really hard on walking up the stairs without falling over. He almost slips, once, because the sodding steps are polished wood and his socks slide all over them. It helps him focus on something else, though, something that’s not the words that just came out of John’s mouth and the way his heart is beating a bruising repetition of _mistake, mistake, mistake_ against his ribs.

Lafayette is grateful for the orange juice but less grateful for the early wakeup call so Alex cuddles up close to him under the covers, traces little patterns over Lafayette’s smooth skin and listens to him hum. Watches the sunlight start to move in strips across the room as the minutes creep by.

They eventually haul themselves out of their little cocoon and into the shower, Lafayette stumbling in behind him. Alex has all but given up on having the shower to himself, resigned to his fate of having a gangly Frenchman plastered all over his back for the rest of time. He vocalises his mourning to his friend and Laf chuckles, dragging his fingers across Alex’s skin and murmuring that if he wanted some alone time then he could have just said.

Alex is tempted, so tempted, and Lafayette’s hand is big and warm and dangerously close to cupping his dick but he makes a frustrated sound and bats his fingers away.

“We shouldn’t,” he says and Lafayette pouts.

“There’s nothing wrong with a friendly handjob,” he counters, quirking an eyebrow at Alex.

“I’d feel bad though,” he whines.

“But you’re not _taken_ by anybody, so there’s nothing to feel bad about,” Lafayette steps close, runs his fingers over the swell of Alex’s ass. Alex shivers, the feel of the hot water sluicing over his skin and the sensation of being crowded in by Lafayette, his body hot and strong, makes his dick twitch against his thigh. But, no, he can’t, he _can’t._

He wriggles out of Lafayette’s hold and his friend steps back easily, smiling down at him. “Ah,” he whispers, “It is your _feelings_ that are taken. I understand.”

Alex breathes a sigh of relief, closes his eyes, but squawks a high pitched warbling noise as soon as he opens them again and sees Lafayette stroking his own cock, pulling it to hardness.

“The fuck are you doing?” he yelps, feeling like he should look away and yet entirely unable to.

Lafayette shoots him an amused look, leaning back against the tiles and stroking over the tip of his dick, the dark head sliding in and out of his fist as he twists his wrist.

“You got me all worked up,” he says, eyeing Alex up and down with dark eyes.

“Could you at least wait until I’ve washed my hair to jerk off, _merde_ ,” he shakes his head, turns his back on Lafayette and tries to ignore his friend’s chuckles.

“You’re so tense,” Laf teases, the grin evident in his voice. “Maybe you should get off too. Jerking off in the same room at the same time isn’t the same as getting a handjob, you know, you shouldn’t feel guilty about your body’s needs.”

“ _Va te faire enculer,_ ” Alex mutters darkly and flips him off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself in a towel.

“Would if I could!” Lafayette crows and Alex rolls his eyes, wandering off into the bedroom and leaving his friend to it.

That seems to set the tone for the rest of the day, Lafayette flirty and playful and Alex exasperatedly batting his hands away. He turns the volume up on his phone and drags Alex into dancing to Beyoncé in the middle of the room, crooning out the lyrics, _middle fingers up, put ‘em hands high, wave it in his face, tell him “boy, bye”,_ and Alex laughs and laughs and goes along with it, expertly avoiding getting his feet trodden on.

It feels so good to indulge in spending time with Lafayette, even though he spent the entire day with him yesterday. The day before felt heavy, sad and somber; today feels lighter and happier, Lafayette breathing life into him and making him smile.

The wedding rehearsal is casual, all of them decked out in jeans and slouchy tops and Alex has let Lafayette play with his hair again and twist it into an intricate bun with several little braids running through it. He feels pretty, and Lafayette kisses his cheek and tells him that he’s _always_ pretty, and he flushes happily and swings their joined hands between them.

They’re all gathered inside the church and it’s nice, big and lofty with high arching windows and stained glass that dapples out patterns against the stone floor. Alex hops over the flagstones with names written on them, his silly childhood superstition rearing its head and still unable to be shaken off, to this day. Adrienne’s siblings mill about, humming and hawing over where the decorations are going to go, and Alex and Lafayette stand back and dawdle a little, chatting a bit, but mostly just leaning into each other and quietly watching everyone else.

That is, until Lafayette gasps beside him and stands up ramrod straight, jostling Alex from where he was slouched into his side.

“Hey,” Alex grumbles, poking Lafayette’s ribs. His friend doesn’t even flinch, his eyes fixed at the end of the church and Alex follows his gaze and finds himself looking a dark skinned guy in a dog collar with impressive eyebrows and a chest broad enough to eat a three course meal off.

“Who is he,” Lafayette breathes, his eyes wide.

“Um,” Alex says, confused, glancing between his friend and the man. “The priest?”

Lafayette’s mouth drops open. “I have to suck his dick.”

Alex almost chokes on his own spit. “Oh my G- Lafayette, _no,_  what the fuck, you can’t suck the dick of the guy who’s officiating your best friend’s wedding! He’s a priest! We’re in a church!” He casts his eyes to the heavens and frantically casts up a panicked prayer.

“God would not have put us under the same roof if He did not want me to suck this man’s dick,” Lafayette says staunchly.

Alex stares at the side of his face in horror. “You _can’t_ ,” he stutters.

“I’m going to,” Lafayette replies and steps forward determinedly. Alex quickly jumps in front of him, fisting his hands in Lafayette’s shirt and stomping on his toes.

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses, glaring up at his friend. Laf has the decency to rip his eyes off the priest and stare down at him, his lips pulling into a frown.

“What’s the problem? Why are you standing in the way of me and true love?”

“Because we made a _commitment,_ ” Alex whispers heatedly. “For the duration of this week I am your _boyfriend_ and if you suck that man’s dick then it’s _cheating._ ”

Lafayette raises an eyebrow. “We’re fake dating, so it’s only fake cheating, _non?_ ”

“No,” Alex insists, “No it’s not, oh my God, don’t do this to me,” he whines.

“Well,” Lafayette huffs, tossing his hair back. “I’m not going to get sex from you so I might as well start looking elsewhere.”

Alex buries his head in Laf’s chest in despair. “Does it have to be the priest, though?” he says, strangled.

“I’m afraid so,” Lafayette says solemnly, rubbing his palms across Alex’s back. Alex looks up, pouts at him, but Laf just tugs on a loose strand of his hair and grins cheekily.

“Wish me luck,” he winks and he’s off, stalking towards the priest who’s talking with Adrienne and Eliza at the altar. Alex can see the exact moment his steps shift from giddy to predatory, honing in on his prey. He feels bad for the poor priest, he really does.

The actual rehearsal goes well, Adrienne and Eliza grinning at each other and no one tripping up on the walk down the aisle. John holds Frances’ hand as they make their way down and Alex catches himself smiling softly at them both, at the pretty picture they make, and he ends up averting his eyes sharply and making eye contact with Lafayette who’s waggling his eyebrows at him. He glares as best as he can and ignores how Laf throws his head back in a silent laugh.

The only real moment of note is when the priest, Father Washington, he’s learned, asks for the rings and Lafayette panics adorably.

“I’ve got them,” Alex calls from where he’s sat in one of the pews. “I’m keeping them safe for him, otherwise he’ll lose them.”

Father Washington casts Lafayette an amused glance. “Understandable, son,” he says and carries on with his little speech. Lafayette’s eyes go wide and he gives Alex a strained look and Alex resists the urge to thump his head on the bench in front of him. He’s just witnessed a new kink bloom into life right in front of his eyes and it was _horrific._

It’s pretty smooth sailing from there and they all end up mingling at the end, chatting about how excited they all are, that this is finally happening. Alex finds himself next to Eliza, watching Lafayette charm Father Washington from a distance and discreetly shaking his head in exasperation.

“It’s going to be lovely,” he says to her, smiling politely.

“I know,” she gushes, “I’m just so excited, I can’t believe it’s tomorrow.” Her eyes are shining and she’s twisting her engagement ring around and around on her finger, obviously trying to channel her energy.

“Father Washington gave a very nice service,” he says for lack of anything else, because observing her obvious happiness is making his heart ache just a little for what could have been.

“Oh, I know, he’s wonderful,” she nods, smiling in the Father’s direction. “Everyone adores him around here, he’s such a huge part of the community. Everyone’s forever trying to set him up.”

“He’s single?” Alex asks, his curiosity piqued.

Eliza hums. “Has been for a while, since he and his wife split up. No one really said anything but we all kind of knew it was because he leant more towards the males than the females, if you know what I mean. They legalised gay marriage and I think he just decided to fuck it,” she says, matter of fact, and Alex sputters a little. Eliza is not the kind of person who he’d expect to swear so casually and yet here she is. At least Lafayette’s chances of actually nailing this guy just increased exponentially.

“His ex-wife, Martha, is lovely, and they’re still very close. I think she’s as concerned about his loneliness as everyone else is. He’s got a lot of dogs,” she says significantly, widening her eyes. Alex giggles, imagining Lafayette picking dog hair off his clothes for the rest of his life.

“He seems to have taken a shine to Lafayette,” she says slyly, raising a perfectly shaped brow at him. “Maybe you should go introduce yourself properly,” she winks and spins away, skipping over to her father.

Alex gapes after her. She did _not_ just imply that he initiate a threesome with his best friend and a _priest,_ holy shit. He can’t believe this is happening to him.

He does go and say hi, though, because it would be rude to drag Lafayette away and not introduce himself. Father Washington is actually a very nice man and Alex is almost immediately endeared towards him, if a little uncomfortable with the knowledge that Lafayette wants the guy to wreck him into next week. Lafayette beams at him, his eyes crinkling, and Alex feels the corners of his mouth tug up in response.

The rest of the afternoon is kind of frantic, everyone rushing about and checking that everything’s ready to go. There’s lists tacked up on nearly every doorway in the Schuyler mansion that they all tick off on as soon as something’s been checked and deemed complete. Adrienne’s siblings swing between hurrying about, mumbling in French, and collapsing into the nearest armchair with glasses of wine in hand. Alex just goes wherever he’s pointed towards and tries his best not to cross paths with John.

He has no idea if John’s managed to have that conversation with Lafayette yet, and he’s too busy to really think about it, but it lingers in his mind anyway like a niggling thorn buried under his fingernail, throbbing and distracting him from his tasks.

Louis suggests ordering pizza once everything that’s possible to have been checked has been checked and almost gets his head snapped off by every woman in the room.

“I want to actually fit into my dress tomorrow, thank you,” Adrienne glares at him and he cowers under the force of it. They order sushi instead.

Lafayette carefully hangs up their suits on the wardrobe door in preparation for the next morning, making sure there’s no wrinkles to ruin the line, telling Alex that Hercules will kill him if he lets him walk out the door with his specially tailored suit rumpled. Alex grumbles under his breath but accepts that he’s definitely not the best at looking after his clothes and that Hercules probably _will_ murder him if one of his own creations ends up looking hideous because Alex didn’t bother to iron it.

He kind of can’t believe it’s almost over. Tonight is the second to last night they’ll be staying in the Schuyler mansion, as they’ll be leaving early Monday morning to get back in time for Alex to catch his classes. It’s going to be all over so soon, and he’ll be back to the grind, back to working through Law School, back to a life without John or Frances. This train of thought leads to him breaking out a few of his textbooks and some highlighters while Lafayette groans in exasperation on the other side of the bed.

“ _Petit lion,_ ” he mumbles, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes. “Please get some rest. Join me. Tomorrow is a very big day and you need your beauty sleep.”

“Are you implying I’m ugly?” Alex says, mock offended while Lafayette splutters in indignation. “Because this morning you said I was pretty.”

“You are a menace,” his friend hisses and digs his fingers into Alex’s sides, making him wriggle about on the mattress and mess up his stack of papers.

They settle down, eventually, and Alex lies flat on his stomach and pushes his face into the pillow, trying to smother the thoughts in his brain that won’t shut the fuck up. He manages to catch a few hours of sleep, slipping in and out of confusing dreams, until he’s woken up by a knock on the door.

“ _Quelle heure est-il?_ ” Lafayette asks, his voice thick and sleepy and Alex glances at the clock. _03:26AM_ blinks back and him and he shushes Laf, tells him it’s late, to go back to sleep, drags himself out of bed to find out what’s going on.

He opens the door, squinting, and is presented with Frances balanced on John’s hip, holding a glass of water out to him.

“ _Agua,_ ‘Xander _,_ ” she says happily and Alex blinks a little, his brain not quite functioning, and takes the drink.

“Who is it?” Lafayette calls, sitting up in bed, the sheet falling down around his waist as he rubs at his eyes.

“It’s just John,” Alex says, “Go back to sleep.”

Lafayette pauses for a moment, his eyes focusing on the doorway. “Hello John,” he says lowly, his mouth a flat line, and Alex rolls his eyes. He’d not managed to ask Lafayette whether John’s spoken to him or not and, honestly, that response could mean anything. Lafayette’s not usually openly aggressive, but hostility is pouring off him in waves right now and Alex is torn between being happy that Lafayette is so protective of him and feeling embarrassed at the whole scenario.

“ _Agua,_ ” Frances repeats again and Alex tears his eyes off his friend in order to hurriedly take a sip, the cool liquid slipping down his throat, and she grins at him.

“I’m sorry,” John whispers, his eyes pained. “She insisted, she wouldn’t go back to sleep.”

Alex holds up his hand. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “A three A.M. _agua_ break is always refreshing,” and takes another sip of water. Frances leans her head sleepily on John’s shoulder and he rocks her, smoothing a hand down her back.

“We’ll go,” he says, “I’m sorry for… Interrupting,” and he turns and lopes off down the corridor, his back tensed up under his sleep shirt, leaving Alex blinking after him. Frances waves a chubby hand over his shoulder, and Alex waves back, feeling a little lost.

He puts the glass down on the bedside table and climbs back into bed, sighing into the silence.

“That was domestic,” Lafayette says quietly and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to deal with this right now. He hasn’t spoken to Lafayette about his attachment to Frances, doesn’t want to discuss the dull hurt in his chest when he thinks about saying goodbye to her.

“Go to sleep,” he repeats and Lafayette frowns, moves away from him, curling up on his side.

Alex watches the numbers on the clock flip over, takes another sip of water, and waits for the morning to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d'accord: okay - putain / mierda: shit - va te faire enculer: go fuck yourself


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "God, he wishes he could be like Cato, just let everything wash over him, not engaging in stupid fucking nonsense like agreeing to pretend to date your best friend while your ex-boyfriend- no, ex-fiancée- breaks your heart over and over without even knowing they’re doing it."

He all but throws himself at Hercules when he arrives the next morning.

To his credit, his friend neither collapses under his weight or punches him the face: the former because Hercules is built like a brick house and Alex could not sway or deter him in the slightest, no matter how much effort he put into it, and the latter he likes to think is because Hercules knows and loves him too much to jam his knuckles straight into Alex’s teeth in surprise.

“You’re gonna crumple up my suit,” he grumbles, but wraps his arms around Alex anyway.

Alex hums. “You smell good,” he mumbles.

“You smell like Lafayette,” Hercules says and tugs on his hair. “Anything you want to tell me, pipsqueak?”

Alex pouts. “Not even a little bit. Now, where’s Cato, he's way less nosy than you, I’d much prefer to talk to him,” he deflects, craning his neck in his search for Cato.

Hercules rolls his eyes. “Considering he’s mute, I doubt you’ll get much of a conversation out of him.”

Alex glares at him. “I’d much prefer to talk _at_ him, then,” he bites out. Hercules grins and it’s beautiful, all dazzlingly white teeth and sparkling eyes.

“I’ve missed you, Hammie,” he says and squeezes Alex’s shoulders.

Alex flutters a hand over his heart, looking up at Hercules with big eyes. “Gone for a week and you’re already pining,” he sniffs.

Hercules pushes the heel of his hand into Alex’s forehead and Alex whines, rubbing the spot and grimacing. “Be nice to me,” he pouts, “I ironed your suit and everything, that deserves some applause.”

Hercules pushes his lips together and takes a step back, motioning for Alex to spin around. Alex gives him a little twirl, feeling silly, and Hercules claps slowly.

“Well done,” he says, “Not a single wrinkle in sight. You’ve managed not to ruin one of my creations, I’m very proud.”

“Did Alexander tell you he ironed it? Because that’s a lie, I was the one who ironed the suit,” Lafayette interjects, stepping forwards and kissing Hercules soundly on each cheek. Cato is at his side, looking very neat and handsome in a purple suit and black shirt to match Hercules’ black suit and purple shirt. Alex grins at them all, some part of him feeling complete now that he has his closest friends surrounding him.

They’re all waiting outside the church, dressed up in their best, for the service to start. There’s some time to go before the brides are set to arrive so everyone’s just mingling, family and friends coming together and chatting polite small talk, waiting for the real show to happen. Alex had spotted John earlier holding a little basket of flowers in the crook of his arm while he fixed a very pretty headband onto Frances, swinging her up onto his hip and making sure she didn’t get her dress dirty before the main event.

He’d spent the morning running around after Lafayette, going wherever he was pointed, setting up things for the wedding. He’d strung up flowers in the church, he’d arranged gifts from guests, he’d even received a delivery guy dropping off a large marquee, of all things.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he’d asked, bewildered. The delivery guy just shrugged, plucked the pencil that was tucked behind his ear and offered it to Alex.

“Sign here,” he’d said in monotone and Alex had scribbled his name somewhat illegibly and the guy had been off like a shot.

“Fuck,” he’d said, standing at the bottom of the steps up to the mansion with a bunch of poles and a tonne of fabric. He’d sighed, resigned himself to sweating through his shirt, and ran all the way up the steps to gather reinforcements.

“Do you have an idea of where you want this set up?” he asked Eliza as they all panted down the steps. Her hair was half done up and her face was bare, but she’d insisted on coming down to see it all get set up.

“There’s a lake I know,” she’d told him, smiling, “It’s in a nearby park, I want to set it up there.”

Alex swore inside his head. They’d have to carry the damn thing all the way up the steps and then onwards to wherever Eliza wanted it set up and, while he’s not exactly a weak person, his body is mainly used to lifting heavy books off shelves, not dragging metal poles for half a mile in sweltering heat.

With the help of Adrienne’s siblings they got it all set up before noon, though. The marquee looked beautiful, white and simple, strung up with fairy lights. Lafayette had roped him into helping him carry the flowers for the table decorations down to the tent, squaring them in the middle of the tables and dusting off the tablecloths. He fluttered petals from the spare flowers over the tables enthusiastically and Alex rolled his eyes and followed behind, arranging name cards in the correct places for the seating plan and subtly redistributing some of the petals from where Lafayette had dumped too many in one place.

It was nice to be distracted for a while. He went wherever people pointed him and didn’t have to think a lot about it, his mind pleasantly filled with ticking off items on the wedding checklist rather than on John and Frances. It was a relief, a break, from how he’d stayed up all night, his eyes stinging, thinking about them. He’d sipped his way through all of the water Frances had bestowed upon him and then stared miserably at the empty glass on his bedside table, so innocent and yet so incriminating.

Tonight would be his last night at the Schuyler mansion. He wondered absently if he’d be woken up for another _agua_ break.

Once everything that could be set up was set up and the guests started arriving, all the girls seemed to go into panic mode. Actually, that was untrue, since both Lafayette and John looked about ready to tear their hair out as well. Alex gladly followed Lafayette into Adrienne’s room, getting ready with her sisters and bouncing his leg up and down, inexplicably nervous.

He’d been distracted, however, when John showed up at the door looking frazzled and bouncing a squirming Frances on his hip.

“I think he wants you, Alexander,” Lafayette said flatly when he opened the door. Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes too hard and pinched Lafayette in the side as he shoved his way past.

“What’s up?” he’d asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Can you take her?” John’s voice had sounded reedy, like he was desperate. “She keeps trying to play with all of Peggy’s makeup and I can’t keep an eye on her and try to calm down Eliza at the same time.”

“Sure, sure, of course,” Alex had agreed amicably, reached out for her. His and John’s hands came into contact and Alex wanted to flinch, wanted to hiss like he’d been burned, but he held too much pride to do either.

“Come here sweet girl,” he’d mumbled, transferring Frances from John’s arms into his own easily. His heart gave a sad pang when he realised how routine this felt, passing Frances between himself and John, like they’d done this a hundred times before. It’s something he would have done, something he would have been used to, if Frances was their baby girl and not just John’s. If they’d had a daughter together, like they’d planned. If they’d been a family.

“I’ll come back for her in about an hour,” John had interrupted his thoughts. Alex hummed in response. John pressed a slow kiss against Frances’ forehead, his lashes dipped low and fanning across his cheeks, breathing in the scent of her hair.

“Love you,” he’d whispered and Alex pressed his lips together, hard, feeling something crack in his chest. John had turned and walked away without looking back.

Alex had used Frances as an excuse to not get changed into his suit, pouting at Lafayette and bouncing her on his knee. She’d gurgled adorably and flung her hands up to try and grab at Laf’s hair and Alex almost choked on his laughter at the look of alarm that passed across his friend’s face. He’d taken his hair down from his bun and let her play with that instead, saving Lafayette the horror of getting his curls pulled on.

Alex watched her play with his hair, her brown eyes so soft and warm, her little mouth moving and nonsense spilling out, tiny squeals of delight as she wrapped his hair around her fingers. He kissed the top of her head, her cheeks, her nose, her fingers, every part of her that he could reasonably reach, and held her close. Cradled her into his chest. She radiated warmth and he could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady, beneath his palms. He wished his heartbeat were as steady, knowing as he did that this might be the last time he gets to hold her.

He panicked irrationally when John popped back into the room, Peggy trailing behind him with her makeup bag. He didn’t want to let Frances go, he didn’t want her to leave him, he didn’t want her to be taken away. He knew, in his head and his heart, that he was being stupid, ridiculous, that she’d never be safer or more loved than in John’s arms, but he wished, miserably, that she could be safe and loved in _his_ arms as well. His hands had tightened around her, and John had hesitated a little in his steps, his eyes unreadable, before he sat down next to Alex on the sofa and started stroking Frances’ hair. He didn’t make a move to take her from Alex’s arms, rather just played with her while Alex tried very hard not to lean back into his arm stretched along the back of the sofa.

They were sitting, angled towards each other, with Frances on his knee and playing with John’s fingers, and Alex was struck all over again by how very domestic this scene was. He caught Lafayette frowning at them, his eyes dark, and looked away. Held Frances closer, pressed more kisses into her hair, tried to memorise the feel of her warmth.

He tried to hide his reluctance when John had to take Frances to get changed, Adrienne well on her way to having her makeup fully done and the clock ticking ever closer to the ceremony. Alex knew that he needed to get changed too, to let Lafayette carefully dress him so he doesn’t get any creases in his suit, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to stay in that moment, unbroken, forever. Frances had said his name, over and over, and shoved her fist into her mouth as John manoeuvred her into his arms.

“Bye bye,” he’d murmured, feeling sick to his stomach.

She’d blinked at him, slow and heavy, and then smiled brilliantly around the fingers in her mouth. He couldn’t help but smile back at her, even if it was strained around the edges.

He’d gotten dressed in a daze, Lafayette tying his tie expertly and dusting off his jacket for any lint, and hung around, not really knowing what to do. Got bored and started poking around in Peggy’s kit until she’d rolled his eyes, brushed something glittery over his cheekbones, and shoved him away.

Now he’s waiting in the Spring sunshine, casting his eyes over all the guests and listening to Lafayette and Hercules judge them all on their outfit choices. He rolls his eyes and stands in silence with Cato, who looks completely unfazed. God, he wishes he could be like Cato, just let everything wash over him, not engaging in stupid fucking nonsense like agreeing to pretend to date your best friend while your ex-boyfriend- no, ex- _fianc_ _é_ _e_ \- breaks your heart over and over without even knowing they’re doing it. He’s a fucking mess, he knows, and he’s _stuck_ in this ridiculous situation because he doesn’t know when to stand up for himself. Doesn’t know how to say no.

Father Washington appears at the church doors and starts to usher everybody inside. Alex latches onto Lafayette’s hand, half because he needs reassurance right now and half because he’s not sure what Lafayette will do with his hands around Father Washington. Doesn’t want to find out, really, he thinks, grimacing. Lafayette smiles at him, fucking beams at Father Washington, and leads him into the church.

It’s cool inside, the atmosphere warm and welcoming, and Alex admires the flowers strung up between the pews and around the altar, pretty whites and pinks and blues, blooming especially for this moment. He takes a deep breath, trying to let it all wash over him, trying not to think of what flowers he and John would have chosen, whether they even would have had a church wedding, what they would have looked like, up there at the altar, side by side and confirming that they wanted to stay that way for the rest of their lives.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by Lafayette’s hand on his arm and he looks up into concerned eyes.

“Are you okay, _mon ami_?” he asks, searching Alex’s face.

“I’ll be fine,” Alex says, pasting on a fake smile. Lafayette can see through it, he knows, and he makes a distressed noise.

“That implies that you are not currently fine.”

Alex stretches up on his tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “Stop worrying about me,” he pushes Lafayette forward a little, in the direction of Father Washington at the altar. “Get up there and do your job.”

Lafayette narrows his eyes but squeezes his hands and turns away. Alex watches the lines of his shoulders under his suit and thinks about how much it must be straining his friend to keep trying to hold him up. Thinks about how he’s a burden.

“Don’t lose the rings!” he calls and Lafayette spins around, shoots him two middle fingers, and he laughs.

He joins Hercules and Cato at one of the pews on Adrienne’s side, a few rows back from her immediate family. Adrienne had tried to insist that he sit closer but he’d refused, awkwardly, unable to go so far as to insert himself into her family when he was just lying to them all.

He cracks his knuckles while he waits for the ceremony to start, one by one, until Cato places his hand over them and looks at him flatly. He whispers an apology and goes to bouncing his knee up and down which he supposes isn’t any better because Cato viciously steps on his foot.

“Yo,” Hercules leans over and pinches his arm. “Stop aggravating him. What are you so nervous about anyway?”

He’s interrupted before he can answer, the orchestra starting up and the doors opening. Everyone stands and turns to the door, watching the bridesmaids and groomsmen file in slowly, grinning. Alex catches John’s eye as he walks down the aisle with Frances, him nudging her forward with a palm on her back and her sporadically throwing flower petals all over the place, looking like she’s thoroughly enjoying herself. He can’t help but quirk a smile, and John shoots a silly grin back at him, and his heart beats painfully in his chest.

There’s a beat, and then Adrienne enters, on the arm of her father, looking beautiful in her dress and absolutely radiating beauty and love. Alex feels himself soften fondly even though he barely knows her as she makes her way down the aisle, kisses her father on the cheek, and waits patiently at the altar for Eliza to join her.

She doesn’t have to wait long. Eliza enters, clutching Mr. Schuyler’s arm, her eyes fixed at the front of the room where Adrienne waits. She’s wearing what he knows from Hercules’ designs is called an empire dress, a blue ribbon around her waist, simple and understated. She looks like she’s barely breathing as she walks slowly down the aisle and Alex drags his eyes away from her to look at Adrienne. His heart thuds painfully when he realises that Adrienne is looking at Eliza with wonder in her eyes, a look he thinks he’s aimed at John many a time. Love seems to be pouring out of every inch of her, and she and Eliza seem like they’re in a world of their own, completely wrapped up in each other.

Eliza reaches the altar and her father presses a kiss to her cheek, joins her hand with Adrienne’s. Father Washington motions for them all to sit down, and the ceremony begins.

 

.

 

As it turns out, having a big fat crush on your roommate is probably not the greatest idea. Unfortunately, Alex is stuck in a hell of his own heart’s making, sharing a room with John and going to classes with John and, occasionally, sleeping next to John, holding hands with John, hugging John. It’s fucking torture and it’s terrible and he’d give anything to trade all his emotions away and become a robot who does nothing but write. No sleeping, no eating, just writing.

Because when he sleeps he dreams of John. And when he eats it’s because John is sternly forcing him to. But when he writes his words are his own. He is perfectly content to get lost in the scribble of pen on paper, laptop keys clacking, research and referencing and arguments, cold cut and severe, where nothing that makes his heart ache can creep into the words.

He probably doesn’t help himself, hanging off John like a needy limpet. He didn’t have any friends when he came to the U.S., had no support system to fall back onto apart from Thomas and Edward back home, and they were miles and miles away and didn’t care for his pursual of a good and proper education. Finding out he’d be rooming with a gay liberal had been a goddamn relief and he’d nattered happily about every subject under the sun while John put away his things with only mild alarm and bemusement evident on his features.

“I would have gone to Princeton but they wouldn’t give me a full scholarship. I don’t come from means so I’m indebted to Columbia for being willing to take me, otherwise I’d be stuck back in Nevis,” he’d said, wringing his hands together and regretting saying it almost immediately after it came out of his mouth.

John had flashed him a grin, quick and pretty. “I think Columbia is more than just willing to take you, Alexander. If you talk with half as much zeal as you just did during your classes then you’ll blow them all away.”

Alex had looked up at him, eyes shining, heart in his throat, and John had smiled down at him and dragged him off to the lunch hall, telling him all about the societies he wanted to join.

They’ve been inseparable from then on. Alex has seen many other roommates avoid each other or actively shout at each other, but he and John click together like puzzle pieces. John doesn’t mind Alex hoarding non-perishable foodstuffs under his bed “just in case” and Alex doesn’t mind John blasting his weird indie music out of his speakers while he's working. John forces Alex to eat and sleep and occasionally drags him out of their room and onto the quad to get some sunlight, joking that Alex is going to shrivel up like a dead plant if John doesn’t water him just right. Alex lets John play with his hair, buy him food, take him out. They sign up for salsa classes because it was either that or pole dancing and Alex just about has a heart attack thinking about the latter option.

There’s not a moment where he can point his finger and say, _there, right there, that’s when I fell for John._ There is no flash where the heavens open and the sun shines down and his heart goes _oh, John’s the one._ It creeps up on him both slowly and altogether too fast, frightening in its swiftness and fervour until his mind is clouded with John, drunk on him, addicted to him. He looks at John and sees everything he’s ever wanted, to be loved and accepted, to succeed, right there in his eyes. John isn’t his perfect balance, they don’t complete each other, but they consistently make each other _better,_ they support each other and polish each other up, make each other shine. Alex helps channel John’s anger and recklessness into his activism, creating passion out of rage, and John helps him streamline his thoughts, helps him manage doing eleven things at once, helps him to live and breathe.

It helps that John is arguably the prettiest person Alex has ever seen. Maybe not by conventional standards, as John’s ears stick out and his teeth sometimes seem too big for his mouth, his freckles crowd every inch of his skin and his hair can never be described as anything other than ‘messy curls’. But to Alex, his beauty shines out of every pore. His very nature, his soul, makes him glow and draws Alex to him, inevitably, like a moth to a flame. John is tall and strong and sure of himself, and Alex is short and scrawny and yearning for any chance to prove himself. He looks desperate next to John. Weak. He hates being weak.

It’s undeniable, though, that John is his weak spot. He joins ranks with his mother and his status as an immigrant in places that people should press if they want the full force of Alexander Hamilton to rain down on them. More than once he’s gotten into a fight defending John, or joined John in a fight, their knuckles bloody and sore and both of them giggling and leaning into each other, high on the rush of it.

He keeps it a secret, though, this small flame of devotion that burns inside his chest. He doesn’t bother to try and extinguish it, he knows it won’t be doused. He carefully keeps an eye on it, trying to prevent it from spreading into a wildfire, and dates a boy named John André in the meantime.

He’s pretty, if a little shallow, and it’s helpful that he shares his name with John so it doesn’t really matter if he yells out that name, referencing a different man, when they’re having sex. It’s a fling more than anything, a way to pass the time, because Alex’s sex drive is pretty high and he’s getting a bit sick of his left hand. He’s careful not to bring André back to his room, careful not to reveal any marks André leaves on him, careful not to involve John anymore than he already is, what with him inadvertently carving out a permanent space for himself in Alex’s heart.

John catches on anyway. Their room becomes a place of stale silence, looming distance between them, John flinching away every time Alex goes to touch him. Alex doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, because he’s fucked plenty of people in the months he’s been at Columbia and it’s never upset John before. Fuck, John’s even walked in on him having sex, his tongue deep in a girl’s pussy, her thighs locked around his head to keep him there. John had yelped and stumbled out immediately, timidly poking his head around the door hours later after the girl had gone home and Alex had immediately sheepishly apologised. John had waved him off, dug his knuckles into his shoulder, and simply said that he’d better wash his sheets before their movie night.

Alex tries to fill the silence with chatter, nervous mumblings about anything and everything, but John just blinks at him and sticks his earphones in. He stops replying to Alex’s texts, after a while, and Alex decides that that is the perfect excuse to get utterly trashed.

Which leads to where he is now, in the kitchen of some third year Law student, drinking jello shots and twisting his hips to the beat.

The lights are down and the place is crammed with people, packed in tightly, grinding and sweating all over each other. He’s had his ass groped more times than he can count but it’s getting to the point where he doesn’t really mind, his brain saturated with alcohol, and all he really wants to do is get laid.

Well, that’s untrue: he wants to crawl into bed with John and suck his dick, have him come in his mouth, have him kiss the taste away and jerk Alex off with his big hands, strong and sure. He’ll settle for getting his mouth around a stranger’s cock, though, or fucking somebody out with his tongue, even though he knows it won’t be nearly as satisfying. He could call André and he _knows_ he’d get a good fucking out of him, but he wants something new, he wants something untouched and exciting. If he can’t have John then he’ll settle for fucking everybody else until he runs out of options.

He ends up on his knees for a girl with curly brown hair and brown eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose, a resemblance he doesn’t want to think about. He curls two of his fingers up into her, revelling in her warm slickness, the softness of her, and licks over her clit in lazy circles until she’s shaking above him. He pulls out, wipes off his mouth, and stands to leave, ignoring his hard cock in his pants. She grabs him though, waves a condom in his face, grinning, and turns around and bends over, flipping up her skirt and pushing her ass back at him. He groans, massaging his fingers into her cheeks, then fumbles to get his dick out of his pants and the condom on. He slides into her in one thrust and she opens up around him beautifully, feeling hot and just a little bit loose from his tongue and fingers, and he makes her come again, pulsing around his cock, as he chases his own completion.

“That was good,” she says as she pulls up her panties, still gasping for breath a little. He tries to smile at her but he doesn’t quite think he succeeds.

“Give me a call, if you’re not already taken,” and she’s brandishing a pen and gesturing towards his arm, ready to write her number on it. He thinks about John, about how John might see it and know what it implies, and shudders.

“I’m not really, but… I don’t think so,” he tries to say as delicately as possible. She lifts an eyebrow.

“Not really?” she repeats. “Sounds to me like you’ve got somebody.”

He shakes his head, drags a hand through his hair, smiles sheepishly at her. “I don’t,” he says and his voice is perhaps a bit shaky. “They don’t, we’re not, I mean-”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Let me guess, I look like them, don’t I?” Alex swallows, looks down at his feet. She curls a finger under his chin, tilts his head up and smiles at him.

“My advice? Just tell them. If you’re deep enough to go out and fuck someone who looks like them then I don’t think your feelings are gonna go away any time soon,” she presses a kiss to his cheek, adjusts her skirt, and walks to the door.

“Seriously though, I had a good time. It’s not often a dude will willingly eat me out and not expect anything in return,” she winks.

Alex blushes, flaps his hand. “I have an oral fixation,” he provides dryly. She laughs, her nose scrunching up and crinkling her freckles, just like John does when he laughs.

“Tell that to your someone, I guarantee that you’ll be having sex in about two seconds flat.” And with that she leaves him, alone in the room and feeling a little bit dizzy from the rush of orgasm and the several shots he’d consumed earlier.

He sighs, rubs his eyes, and stumbles back to his room, probably smelling like sex and alcohol, but he’s past caring. He’s a college student, he’s allowed to do stupid shit, even if that stupid shit is falling for his best friend and roommate and trying to make up for it by fucking or getting fucked by half the campus.

The week drags on endlessly this way. John not talking to him because of whatever he’s doing with André just makes him go and do whatever he’s doing with André even more. It’s a terrible circle and Alex starts spending the time he’s not in lectures or the library in André’s room, trying to escape John and the stifling silence that falls over them whenever they’re together.

“You know we’re not, like, together, right?” André says one night while he’s painting his toenails and Alex is trying to get some work done on his computer.

“Huh?” he replies dumbly.

André rolls over, looks Alex in the eyes. “We’re not together.”

Alex furrows his brows. “I know that,” he says slowly.

“Then why do you spend all your time here,” André all but whines, flopping dramatically on the bed. “Look,” he continues, “We’re not exclusive, obviously, since we’re not together, and I’ve been getting closer to George lately, and you being in my room all the time is kind of cramping my style.”

Alex’s shoulders slump. “Fair enough,” he mumbles, “If you want me gone then just say so. I’m trying to avoid my roommate is all.”

André perks up at this, tilting his head in Alex’s direction. “Laurens? I thought you two were, like, inseparable.”

“We were,” Alex says bitterly, “But now he won’t talk to me, for whatever reason.”

André shoots him a funny look. “Could it possibly be to do with how you spend all your time in my room these days?” Alex blinks at him.

“Look,” he says, catching one of Alex’s hands between his palms. “Maybe you and I should cool off for a while. I can see where things go with George and you can patch things up with your Laurens.”

“He’s not my Laurens,” Alex mutters and André barks out a laugh.

“ _That’s_ what you took from that? Okay, so, maybe you need to do more than just patch things up with this guy. Maybe you need to plant a big ol’ kiss on his lips and bang him,” he chuckles and Alex feels his cheeks heat up. André pats his hand, ignores Alex’s indignant squawk when he closes his laptop, and herds him out of the room.

Alex stares at the closed door once he’s pushed unceremoniously out of it, blinking a little. That’s the second person who’s told him to buck up and fuck John. But he wants to do more than fuck John, he thinks miserably. He wants to frame his face in his hands and kiss his lips, suck on them until they’re red and swollen and ever so pretty. He wants to mouth along every patch of freckles on his skin, wants to smooth his fingers through John’s hair, wants to hold his hips down while he shakes around his tongue. He wants John to cage him in, wants to feel the slide of his sweat soaked skin over his own, wants John to kiss him and kiss him and never get tired of it, to take him apart and never put him back together. This addiction, this craving, is seeping into every aspect of his life and he’s desperate to make it go away, to either sate it or get rid of it entirely.

If a third person tells him to do it, then it’ll count as a bonafide sign, he tells himself. A signal from the heavens above that he should get over his sickening fear of losing John and just fucking kiss him.

The third person, much to his chagrin, arrives mere hours after he makes this decision.

He’s in the library, neck deep in several text books. His glasses keep slipping down his nose and his laptop screen is so bright it’s nearly blinding him but it’s late and he needs it to keep awake. Hopefully if he stays here long enough John will be asleep by the time he makes it back to their room. He remembers when John used to come and join him on nights like this, sit himself down opposite Alex and read a book, listen to music, or fall asleep right there on the table. He rubs his eyes, sighs, and goes back to reading.

“Good God, Alexander,” comes a voice from behind him and Alex’s shoulders slump. He sinks into the seat, hoping fervently that the floor will open up and swallow him before he has to hold conversation with Aaron Burr.

Burr makes his way around the desk, eyes Alex’s ungainly spread of books with distaste in his eyes and a curl to his lips. Alex pulls his face into an approximation of politeness, but he’s tired and weary and doesn’t really care if he pulls it off or not.

“Hello, Aaron,” he says tiredly, in monotone.

Burr raises his eyebrow. “Do you know what time it is?”

Alex blinks at him blankly. “I don’t really care, to be frank with you.”

“It’s nearly one A.M.,” Burr provides even though Alex doesn’t care. He blinks at him some more.

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Burr says, gesturing expansively at nothing in particular, “Where is your Laurens?”

Alex almost snaps the pen he’s holding in half.

“For fucks sake,” he says, strangled, “He’s not _my_ Laurens. We are not joined at the hip, we’re separate entities, sometimes we spend time apart. Is it so surprising that I occasionally go places where John doesn’t follow and vice versa?”

Burr stares blankly at him. Alex gives a little growl in the back of his throat and, fuming, almost rips through a page in the textbook with the force he exerts in turning it over. Burr’s hand covers his, gentle but firm, and he collapses, a little, like someone’s cut all the strings holding him up.

“It’s unusual,” Burr starts, his voice smooth and soothing, “That I see you in the library at such a late hour without Laurens around to keep an eye on you. He hasn’t been here with you for the past two weeks. I was concerned, is all.”

Alex opens his mouth to say that’s a lie, to say that Burr is only ever concerned with himself, but he realises that they’re alone, that no one else is around for Burr to keep appearances up for, so what he’s saying might be the truth. Maybe he is concerned, and maybe there’s something for him to be concerned about. He sighs, pulls his hand out from under Burr’s and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to get them to stop stinging.

“We’re not talking right now,” he mumbles and hears Burr pull up a chair next to him.

“May I ask why?”

Alex almost snorts. “Yes, you _may_ ,” he snipes, feeling petty. Burr raises an eyebrow in that completely unfazed and unimpressed way he’s so good at and Alex rolls his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” he says, answering Burr’s silent question. “I started sleeping with John André and all of the sudden he won’t talk to me, won’t answer my texts, won’t touch me and barely looks at me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, I swear to God I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary.”

Burr huffs a laugh. “Your ordinary is everybody else’s extraordinary, Alexander. How long have you and André been sleeping together?”

Alex shrugs half heartedly. “Two months? We literally ended it today, it was nothing serious, just fun.”

“Two months?” Burr repeats and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Alex leans up, trying to catch a glimpse at the screen, but Burr glares at him and mutters _patience_ under his breath.

“Two months ago,” he says, staring at his phone, “I received this text.”

He passes the phone over. Alex almost swallows his tongue.

 **Laurens, 02:47am:** ale x ksieed me !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Laurens, 02:47am:** he say s he s; never gonnma let me go

 **Laurens, 02:47am:** EXPCET AN INBITE TO OUR WEDDING

 **Laurens, 02: 48am:** o wait mayeb not alex saus he doest; like you tht muc h

“I’m assuming from the terrible spelling that he was incredibly drunk. I’m also assuming from the look on your face that you don’t remember any of it,” Burr’s voice cuts through the buzz of static that’s clouding Alex’s brain.

He feels like he’s been punched in the chest. This can’t be right, he would have remembered, he would have _known,_ John would have _said something._ But he didn’t, and Alex went and slept with another guy.

He remembers vaguely a party, some time at the beginning of December, that he and John went to together and got totally smashed at. Remembers flashing lights and the taste of tequila on his lips. Remembers grinding back into a body behind him, hands on his hips, lips on his ear. It blurs easily into similar memories from every other night he’s gone out, every other party he’s gone to, but now he’s questioning whether the taste of tequila was from _John’s_ mouth, whether it was _John’s_ body he was grinding on, whether it was _John’s_ hands on his hips, _John’s_ lips on his ear.

It could have been. Easily. He tends to get a little sloppy when he’s drunk, run his mouth a bit, so he could have easily exposed to John the tiny flame of adoration he held for him deep inside his chest. He could have easily thrown caution to the wind, gone up on his tiptoes and kissed John, slicked his tongue into his mouth and tasted the tequila on his lips. Could have easily forgotten all about it the next morning, hungover and feeling like he’d been trampled on and then steamrolled, groaning and clutching his head, unsticking himself from John’s chest and hurrying to the bathroom.

His breath hitches. He remembers waking up next to John, practically plastered together, but he’d written it off as an occupational hazard. He and John cuddle all the time, especially when they’re drunk, so it’s not unusual for Alex to wake up cradled in John’s arms or sprawled out on top of him. He’d just sucked it up and carried on as usual, pushing the memory of John’s embrace into the tiny box marked ‘do not open’ in his mind and not touching it with a ten foot pole.

“I…” he starts, his voice croaky and stuttering. “I don’t remember that.”

Burr nods slowly. “I figured.” He sighs and takes the phone back out of Alex’s limp hands.

“Maybe you should talk to John,” he says and Alex flinches, reminded of the promise he’d made himself earlier, the third sign that Burr is presenting to him now. But, he reasons, everyone else had told him to fuck John, whereas Burr is telling him to talk to him. There’s a difference, a distinction, and the claws of fear that are wrapped tight around his heart loosen a little.

“Or maybe you should just jump him,” Burr continues and shatters all of Alex’s hopes. “God knows he’d be receptive. You can’t really lose here, Alexander.” He stands, puts the chair back under the table and stares down at Alex for a second. “Use your mouth for something worthwhile, just this once,” he finishes and walks away.

 _Mic drop,_ Alex thinks absently, feeling numb. Trust Burr to get in the last word and walk away before Alex can form a response.

He doesn’t quite know what to do. Stares blankly at all his books for long minutes, trying to get his brain to function long enough to come up with a solution. Part of him wants to run to John, fall at his feet, apologise for hours on end until he’s forgiven and maybe kiss him, a little bit, if John lets him. Another part of him wants to bury himself into a hole and never come out, too ruled by his fear to ever act on this new information.

He takes a deep breath. He’s Alexander Hamilton, damnit, and he’s never been broken by new information before. He’s never been scared to charge into the fray, to get his hands dirty, to collaborate and work towards a positive outcome. This is just another one of those times where he’s been dumped into an unpleasant situation and he has to dig his way out of it. Hopefully, he prays silently, John will forgive him. Hopefully he can make good on his drunk promise and never let him go.

He gathers up his books, returns the relevant ones to the shelves, swings his keys nervously around his fingers as he makes his way back to the dorm. Wonders what will be waiting for him on the other side of the door. Wonders what John will say, what he’ll do, when Alex bares his heart to him.

He opens the door, hands shaking, to find John pacing up and down. He stops and stares at Alex for a moment, his eyes vulnerable and hurt for a split second before they harden. Alex swallows, stricken, and drops everything he’s holding on the ground.

Steps forwards. Licks his lips. Says, “Kiss me.”

 

.

 

A deafening cheer goes up all around him and Alex jolts out of his memories to join in the thundering applause. Everyone’s leaped up out of their seats behind the pews and are clapping and grinning, watching Adrienne and Eliza kiss tenderly at the altar. They break away and giggle, resting their foreheads against each other for a second, before Adrienne takes Eliza’s hand and raises it in the air, like a prizefighter winner, and whoops. Her family all holler at her and Alex laughs, caught up in the beauty of the moment, Adrienne and Eliza looking blissfully happy up their, joined together forever.

They make their way down the aisle and everyone spills out after them, surrounding them on the steps outside the church and carrying on their cheers. Cato presses a bag of flower petals into his hand and Alex throws them all over the happy couple, grateful that Cato remembered or he'd be feeling a bit out of place as all the other guests join in, white and pink petals fluttering everywhere in the Spring wind. Some land in his hair, his eyelashes, his mouth, and he spits them out, shaking his hair to get rid of them all. He spies John doing the same out of the corner of his eye and Father Washington picking them out of Lafayette’s hair too and his heart gives a painful lurch.

He follows everybody in their march down to the lake and the marquee, leaving Adrienne and Eliza to sign the appropriate papers, and marvels in what a lovely day it is. Breathes in deep and tries to imagine the cool air cleansing him, taking away all his problems with the wind and breathing new life into him.

The guests mill around for a bit outside the marquee while the orchestra sets up inside and the caterers bring trays of food down. Alex hovers around Hercules and Cato, revels in their comfortable silence. He’s not quite up to talking to anyone just yet, feeling drawn and weary, steeling himself for the glasses of champagne Lafayette will force down his throat and the dancing he’ll be dragged into.

The band starts up and everyone files in, filling the tent with chatter, waiting for Adrienne and Eliza to join them. Another cheer goes up when they do, hand in hand, and someone immediately calls for a toast. Alex sits through the speeches and the cake cutting, the millions of pictures that the photographer wants to take, eats his dinner without tasting it and lets Lafayette pour him more than one drink. He’s buzzing steadily by the time people start to pour onto the dance floor and fondly lets Lafayette drag him into the middle of things and step all over his toes.

“Be careful, you giant gangly asshole,” he hisses, hopping from one foot to another, trying to avoid Lafayette’s heavy feet. Laf pouts, then his eyes light up and he grins at him.

“Whatever it is the answer is _no-_ ” he manages to yelp before Lafayette picks him up and twirls him in his arms, parading Alex around like a rag doll while he screams into his shoulder and everyone else laughs.

“I hate you,” he whispers fervently and feels the vibrations of Lafayette’s chuckles in response.

“You’re a horrible person, put me down,” he insists, smacking Lafayette on the back over and over until he complies. Alex glares up at him, huffing, smoothing his hair back from his face.

“For that you’re not getting the bed tonight,” he snarks, “You and Washington will have to find some other place to fuck.”

Lafayette just raises his eyebrows, amused. “But of course, we’ll fuck in the church.”

Alex’s eyes almost pop out of his head in his outrage. “You will not, you terrible slut,” he gasps, gripping Lafayette’s arm hard. “Not under the eyes of God, not in His _house,_ oh my God.”

Lafayette leers at him. “Forgive me Father, for I’m going to sin,” he says smugly and Alex whimpers.

“I’m going to find my _beau_ now,” Lafayette says, straightening his lapel and walking off the dance floor, leaving Alex in his wake. Well, fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about it, to be honest.

He wants to think about it even less half an hour later when Peggy storms through the tent flap and lays her distraught eyes on him, marching towards him with aplomb.

“Your boyfriend,” she yells, “Is cheating on you!”

Alex blinks at her. “My what is what on me?”

She thrusts her finger in the direction of the tent flap, indicating outside. “I caught Lafayette with his tongue shoved very far down Father Washington’s throat.”

Alex hears several gasps behind him and spins around to face the majority of Adrienne’s family, all of them muttering expletives in French.

“What’s going on?” Eliza pushes her way forward with John at her elbow, both of them looking confused. Peggy whirls on them with her righteous fury before he can get a word in edgeways.

“Lafayette is cheating on Alex! I saw him making out with Father Washington down at the lake!”

Alex pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll punch him,” Adrienne says, looking furious.

“No!” Alex yelps, throwing his hands up. “Look, this can all be explained-”

“You shouldn’t excuse his behaviour, Alexander,” Angelica says, her voice hard. Alex looks up, sighs heavily, imploring whoever’s up there to sort this fucked up situation out.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but is interrupted by Lafayette ripping through the tent flap and hurrying his way over.

“Alexander!” he calls, “We may have a problem!”

“No fucking shit,” Alex replies, monotone.

Lafayette stutters to a stop and everyone turns to glare at him, his relatives throwing insults at him and the Schuyler sisters apparently trying to set him on fire with his eyes. He throws his hands up, eyes wide, and looks imploringly at Alex.

“This can be explained-” Alex starts.

“He’s a cheat!”

“Dirty scumbag.”

“Asshole.”

“Alex kissed John!” Lafayette cries.

Everyone goes silent, and then turns to stare at Alex. He feels Angelica’s judging eyes burning into the side of his face and flushes.

“Thanks for that, you massive dick,” he spits at Lafayette but his friend just shrugs, the utter knob.

“You kissed John?” Eliza asks, her voice bewildered, looking between John and Alex with confusion in her eyes. John seems as shocked as everybody else, frozen and turning pale, his mouth dropped open but no sound coming out.

“This can all be explained, if you would just let me _talk,_ ” he glares. Takes a deep breath. Sighs heavily.

“Lafayette and I are not dating.”

There’s silence around him, so he tries again. “We’re not dating, we’ve never dated, we probably never will date. Lafayette is free to kiss whoever he likes, as am I, though I’d never kiss a _priest_ , for God’s sake.” He turns to Adrienne. “Lafayette asked me to pretend for the week because he didn’t want to tell you he’d broken up with his boyfriend. He didn’t want to be single at the wedding, and I agreed because I’m his best friend and I do stupid shit sometimes. We’re not dating, he didn’t cheat on me, there’s nothing to get mad about.”

Adrienne blinks at him. “You’re not dating?”

“We’re not dating,” Lafayette confirms.

“How does John come into this?” Eliza pipes up, her eyebrows furrowed together.

“He doesn’t, at all,” Alex says, his voice flat, his heart crumpling in his chest. “I don’t know why Lafayette brought that up,” he directs this at his friend, glaring at him, and Lafayette holds his hands up in defence.

“I thought it would make me look less bad,” he supplies and Alex glares at him harder.

“So you’re not dating,” Peggy clarifies, “And Lafayette made out with the priest, and you kissed John for some unknown reason.”

Alex shifts on his feet, uneasy at that bitesize breakdown of the facts, and nods reluctantly.

“Well,” she says, and takes a flute of champagne from a nearby table, “This has certainly been eventful,” and downs the entire glass in one go.

Everyone seems to take this as a sign to disperse and, grumbling, go back to the reception. Adrienne and Eliza are still shooting funny looks between Lafayette, John, and himself and he averts his eyes, avoiding their stares. The silence is awkward and he looks up to find Lafayette waggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

 _Talk to him_ , his friend mouths and Alex shoots pained eyes at him. Can’t look at John because if he looks at John then he’ll break. Shakes his head minutely, watches as Lafayette’s eyes soften, become imploring, impossible to say no to.

Turns, just slightly, to the side and finds John already looking at him, eyes unreadable.

“You’re not dating,” he says lowly, dully, as if he’s impassive.

Alex casts his gaze around, trying to avoid making eye contact with John, but is drawn inevitably towards him anyway.

“No,” he whispers, licking his lips.

John shifts on his feet, flicks a look at Lafayette, before turning and stalking out of the marquee. Alex deflates, his shoulders slumping, his heart pressing sickeningly against his ribs in a vain effort to follow John.

“Go after him,” Lafayette says, nudges Alex forward. Alex whimpers, scared and hurting, and Lafayette touches his fingers, warm and reassuring. Alex turns to him like a flower towards the sun and Lafayette smiles down at him, gently strokes his fingers down Alex’s cheek, and whispers, “Go, now.”

Alex takes a deep breath and follows John outside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You said you wanted to be friends,” Alex says numbly and John’s hands slip off his shoulders, hang at his sides, limp.  
> “I did,” he says, “I do. If you still want to be friends.”  
> Alex feels something inside him snap, hot, desperate. “And what if I want more?” he challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 23.5k long. leave feedback.

_Steps forwards. Licks his lips. Says, “Kiss me.”_

John’s mouth drops open in surprise and his eyes go wide. “What?” he stutters, “Why?”

“Because I don’t remember it, John, John, I don’t-” Alex’s voice cracks. He sounds desperate and he knows it but he doesn’t care anymore. “I can’t remember how it felt, I can’t remember what you tasted like other than tequila, John, _please_. _”_

John’s breath hitches, audible in the silence of the room. He takes a step forward, aborted, probably unsure of how close he can get.

“You don’t remember?”

Alex shakes his head rapidly, his hair flying messily about his face.

John takes another step forward. “And you’re not gonna go off with someone else?”

Alex barely suppresses a whine, needy, from the back of his throat. “There is no one else, your lips on mine, that’s all I need, it’s all I want, John, my John, please.”

“Careful,” John says, shaky, closing the distance between them finally. “You’re bordering on poetic.”

His hands come up to cup Alex’s face, tilt his head up, and his fingers are trembling minutely. Alex’s own hands fly up to grab his wrists, keep him there, ground him, maybe, reassure him a little. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll never let you go,_ he thinks. Looks up into John’s brown eyes, wide and a little wet.

“Kiss me,” he whispers again and John sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, leans down, seals his lips over Alex’s.

It’s beautiful in its simplicity. John’s warm lips on his, a little dry, barely moving, just pressed there against him. Alex lets his eyes flutter shut and John slides his fingers over his cheeks, behind his ears, into his hair, and angles Alex’s head to the side. He opens his mouth just a little and Alex follows his lead, dizzy with it, aching with an unnameable feeling.

John’s mouth is soft, his movements slow, like he’s taking his time. Alex lets go of his wrists, moves to wrap his arms around John’s back, pull their bodies closer. They’re pressed together, now, chest to chest, and Alex can feel the rise and fall of John’s breathing. He’s probably imagining it but he thinks he can feel John’s heart beating too, through his ribs and skin and two layers of clothing.

The kiss gets wetter the longer it goes on, both of them breathing rapidly through their noses, unwilling to be parted. John’s mouth is slick over his and he teases his tongue shallowly at the corners of Alex’s lips, dipping into his mouth and retreating, over and over until Alex whines. He tastes like the artificial flavouring on his peach lollipops, which Alex knows means he’s been sucking on them to work through his stress. He wants to lick into his mouth until he can’t taste the candy anymore, replace his stress with love, deep and unshakeable.

John pulls back and Alex chases his mouth, peppers little butterfly kisses over his lips, and John giggles. Alex can’t help but smile too, silly and unrestrained, because he has John in his arms and John’s lips under his own and John sounds happy because of something Alex did.

“You won’t forget that,” John whispers, sounding giddy. He presses his forehead against Alex’s and Alex peers up at him, at the sweep of his eyelashes, at the pinkness of his lips.

“Not ever,” he replies, hushed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I forgot the first time, my stupid brain is good for nothing, I’m so s-”

“Hey, no,” John shushes him, massaging the tips of his fingers into Alex’s hair. “It’s not your fault, you can’t control what you remember the next morning, it’s okay. I should have talked to you, I should have said something, I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. It’s my fault the past few weeks have been so hard.”

Alex chuckles, a miserable and bitter sound. “It has been hard,” he agrees. John shushes him again, pets his hair, presses a firm kiss against his forehead.

“I should have said something,” he repeats.

“I should have _known_ ,” Alex insists, blinking up at him. “You’re the most important person to me, I’ve wanted this so much for so long, I should have _known_ , I can’t believe I  _forgot._ ”

“I know, I know,” John says quietly. “It’s okay, we're here now, it’s okay.”

Alex nods, rubbing his forehead against John’s, and John laughs. “Bed, I think,” he says. He runs his fingers down Alex’s spine and Alex arches up into it like a cat, and when John laughs again it sounds awed around the edges. Like he can’t believe it. Alex can’t believe it either.

“I’ve missed cuddling you,” he murmurs and Alex hums, “I’ve missed being cuddled.”

Even though they have clear plans to relocate they stay standing there for a bit anyway, pressed together. Alex rubs his hands up John’s back and John buries his nose in Alex’s hair, breathing deep, like they just can’t let go of each other, not quite yet. It’s not been said, but this is the start, and from here on out they’ll not be separated. Alex is pretty sure that they can both feel it, the inevitability of this moment. The asymptote that Alex previously thought they were turns out to be a lie, lines that were getting closer and closer but never meeting have crossed, touched each other, finally, hopelessly tangled together from this day forward. Alex hopes fervently that they are never forced apart again, not by something as dumb as not talking to each other.

“Come on, come on, bed,” John eventually mumbles, shuffling backwards. Alex whines and follows him, not wanting to let go, and John huffs a laugh as they awkwardly stumble across the room to his bed. It’s small, as all dorm room beds are, but they pretty much always sleep there when they want to cuddle, because John’s bed is full of soft blankets and Alex’s bed is more often than not covered in sheets of paper and crumbs.

John’s already in his pyjamas and Alex pouts when he realises he’ll have to let go of him in order to get undressed. He kicks of his shoes, shucks his hoodie, wiggles his jeans over his hips until he’s in his boxers and shirt, shivering a little. John pulls back the covers and crawls in, flops on his back and indicates for Alex to curl up on top of him. Alex shakes his head, climbs in next to him and puts all his strength into pulling John on top of him instead. John goes with it, letting out a small noise, and Alex relaxes under the press of his weight. He wiggles down a little so his head is resting on Alex’s sternum and Alex tentatively digs his fingers into his curls, listening to John’s contented humming.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, because he can’t seem to help himself.

“Stop apologising,” John murmurs back, “It’s not your fault.”

Alex ignores him. “I woke up that morning next to you and didn’t think anything of it. It was just another morning after, another hangover, another night out I’ll never remember. I wish I could remember.”

John snorts softly. “You’re not missing out on much. We were both drunk and sloppy, it wasn’t anything fantastic. Well it was,” he says in a rush, lifting his head to look at Alex, “It was, because it was you, of course. I mean, I’ve had better kisses but it was you so I didn’t mind.”

Alex whines, petulant. “I wish I could remember,” he says again.

“We can recreate it, it’ll be great. Lots of tequila and lots of tongue, maybe that’ll jog your memory.” He drops his head back down onto Alex’s chest, rubbing his cheek into the material of his shirt.

“How did you know anyway,” he says. “You come in here and demand that I kiss you with no context-”

“-It’s not like you protested-”

“-So if you can’t remember then how did you know?” John finishes.

Alex scratches his nails behind John’s ear and he shivers. “I talked to Burr in the library. He showed me some very incriminating texts.”

John’s head shoots up. “No, no, ignore those texts,” he says quickly, his eyes round and wide. “Those texts aren’t to be taken seriously, I was drunk.”

“I wasn’t aware there was going to be a wedding,” Alex teases him, grinning. “No one told me we were getting married. Though, apparently, the guest list is all sorted out and Aaron Burr is not invited.”

John groans and buries his face in Alex’s chest. Alex’s thoughts get caught in a stupid limbo between wanting desperately to make John make that noise again in a different context and the dizzying knowledge that he _can_ make that happen, he can reach out and touch and have John lean into it and not be scared, not anymore.

His breath hitches and John lifts his head again, levelling him with a curious look. Alex isn’t sure what face he’s making right now but it’s enough to have John’s lips pull into a smirk, his eyes to go dark, and he pushes himself up onto his hands and hovers over Alex, grinning down at him.

Alex spreads his legs and John settles himself between them even further, pushing his weight down onto Alex heavily. It feels so good to have John on top of him, pinning him down, trapping Alex beneath him. The press of him is so satisfying that Alex’s brain is having trouble working properly.

“What are you thinking, hm? You want me?” John’s voice is low and deep, full of promise, and Alex shivers. He’s thought about this a hundred times, about what John would be like in bed, but it’s different to have the real thing unfolding right in front of you. Fantasy is one thing, Alex can run with whatever he’d like in those, whether it’s John underneath him or on top of him, inside him or around him, his hands and his mouth and his cock, all in Alex’s imagination. Now, though, he’s right here for Alex to touch, and he’s struck by the realisation that he’s going to find out what John’s like, right now, and for the rest of his life if he has his way.

“I’m saving myself for our wedding night,” he tries to joke and it comes out a little shaky but John giggles anyway, his nose scrunching up.

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one, you couldn’t go without for a single week, I’ll bet.”

“You’ll not deprive me, will you?” Alex breathes, staring up at him.

John’s eyes darken once again, and he licks his lips. “Not if I can help it.”

Alex arches his back just a little, pressing up against John’s weight, and John drops his weight further on him, his muscles holding him down fast.

“Baby,” he whispers, “ _Querida_ ,” and Alex whimpers at that, gasping, the intimacy of it rendering him speechless. To have John call him that in a language that he covets so fiercely, a language that’s so personal to him, so close to his heart, makes Alex want to beg him never to call him anything else ever again.

John dips his head and kisses him and Alex opens his mouth automatically, slides his tongue in next to John’s because he’s impatient. John makes a noise that Alex can feel vibrate through his chest and he groans in response, licking into John’s mouth messily. John breathes deeply in a strangely endearing way and tilts his head, angling his mouth so he can suck on Alex’s lips, and Alex goes limp, whimpering, because _fuck_ that feels good. John grins against his lips, bites at them, rubs his tongue against the inside of Alex’s cheeks, soft and wet. Their mouths together make slick noises, dirty and intimate, lush in its obscenity.

Pressed together like this, John between his legs and pressing him down, Alex can feel John start to thicken, twitching his hips, and Alex moans and spreads his legs wider, the warm feelings of arousal flooding him and making him dizzy. John kisses down his neck, open mouthed and sloppy, sucks right under his jaw until Alex is scrabbling at his back and breathing harshly. John returns to his lips and Alex opens his mouth to welcome him and the kiss is hard and fast, both of them rushing, high off the feeling of one another.

Alex, when he can get his brain to function long enough to process full thoughts, can barely believe this is happening. John right here, John’s tongue in his mouth, John’s dick half hard against his own, John’s touch and taste and smell all around him. He’d wondered before whether John would take the lead, whether he’d be dominant and in control or if he’d let Alex push him around, tell him what to do. He’d not imagined the give and take they seem to be establishing here, John steering him gently and Alex doing his absolute best to drive him crazy. He wants to be good, he always wants to be good, but he also wants to spend hours learning everything about John in this capacity, tasting every inch of his skin, finding every spot that’ll make him moan, drawing out all his dirtiest fantasies and his more sweet ones, the soft ones that Alex himself has, of slow and lazy sex.

Now is not the time for slow and lazy, though. He shoves his hands under John’s sleep shirt, sliding his palms up his ribs and feeling the way John’s shoulder blades move. John jerks his hips down, grinding his rapidly hardening cock against Alex’s and Alex whines, bites down on John’s bottom lip, probably a bit too hard because John yelps and pulls back.

“Sorry,” he breathes, and John shakes his head, breathing hard, his eyes dilated so large that his pupils are almost fully blown.

“You wanna?” John asks, panting.

Alex bucks his hips up, grinding his dick against John’s, and drags his hands down John’s back until they’re grabbing at palmfulls of his ass, squeezing the ample muscle there.

“Yeah, yeah,” he stutters, “Shirt off, pants off, all of it off.”

John hastens to comply, scrambling off Alex and stripping himself of his shirt, dragging his pyjama pants down over his hips and cock, his ass, his knees, until they’re finally off. Alex licks his lips, staring at the whole of him, his busy eyes roving all of him, trying to imprint every part of his body into his memory forever.

John’s got freckles fucking _everywhere,_ crowded clumps of them over his chest and shoulders, sparse ones over his ribs and belly and thighs, he’s got them on his _knees,_ he’s got them on his _dick,_ and Alex is honestly having a hard time knowing where to start. He places shaky hands on the gutters of John’s hips, the sharp V shape that hours of working out have formed, then pets over his thighs, long and lean and lovely. His abs tense up and Alex sucks in a sharp breath, counting his muscles in an absent way that makes him incredulous at what the fuck his brain is doing right now when he has John, right here, naked and stunning. Alex wants to get his mouth on every inch of him, to dig his fingers in and leave marks, a notable imprint that’ll never go away. He’s possessive, he knows, and it comes from not having a lot of things to call his own when he was growing up, and he wants desperately to call John his, to own him completely and be owned in return, to give himself over and receive John in return.

“You too,” John says and Alex snaps out of it, reluctantly takes his hands off John’s thighs and goes about wriggling out of his shirt and boxers. John stares down at him once they’re gone, his mouth open, and Alex does his best not to squirm, but it’s weird and uncomfortable, the newness of this, and he’s shy.

He’s short and scrappy, lots of weird bones that stick out, but he’s got a tiny belly that’s he’s never been able to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries, and he’s all but given up at this point. He’s a little soft in places and sharp in others, and he knows from looking in the mirror that he’s sort of a jumbled mess, seemingly unfinished in a way, like he hasn’t quite grown into himself yet. John’s the opposite, everything about him is perfectly proportional and in good shape, toned and lean and strong, and Alex can’t stop comparing their bodies and finding his own slightly lacking.

John’s nipples are brown and small and Alex’s are pink and kind of puffy, sticking out a little bit. He has next to no muscle definition and his skin is dotted with weird moles every now and then, nowhere near as pretty as John’s freckles. His and John’s dicks are roughly the same length, perfectly average, except John’s is a finger or two thicker, fat, and he’s cut, which is something Alex didn’t think he’d be. The tip of his cock is red, a tiny bit shiny from where he’s leaking, and his balls look heavy too, nestled in neatly trimmed soft brown hair. Alex has zero time for manscaping and his pubes are dark and wiry, the trail of hair down from his belly button thick and not particularly appealing, he thinks.

He doesn’t doubt that he can get laid, has had that proved to him a few too many times to count over the course of his time so far at college, but next to John he feels small. Not unworthy, not inadequate, per se, but just… Different. Lacking, maybe. Like he has less to offer.

He’s brought back into the moment by John pressing his knuckles into Alex’s belly, kneading the skin, and Alex really does squirm this time.

“Stop that,” John says, pushes his fingers harder into Alex’s belly. “Alexander, _cariño,_ you’re beautiful, come here, come here,” and he crawls forward and up Alex’s body and they both hiss when their dicks slide against each other. It’s a little dry and neither of them are fully hard, but they’re both so wound up that it feels incredible anyway.

John settles himself over Alex, straddling his thighs, leaning forwards so their lengths rest against each other, rocking slowly. His eyes are closed and there’s a small furrow between his brow like he’s really concentrating and Alex jerks his hips up, watches how John’s mouth falls open, watches a flush rise on his chest. He fastens his hands onto John’s hips and bucks up, again and again, and John whines and falls forwards, burying his face into Alex’s neck. Alex takes the opportunity to slide his hands over John’s ass again, squeezing at the flesh and pulling his cheeks apart, using the leverage to grind their cocks together harder.

John lifts his head and starts to suck on Alex’s neck again, his collarbones, his pulse point, his jaw, and Alex moans, his mouth dropping open at the sensation. John feels so good sliding against him, their cocks creating sweet friction, fully hard now and their precum mingling to create a smooth slide that’s driving Alex insane.

“John, John, John,” he’s chanting, reverent, like it’s the only word in his vocabulary right now. John hums and leans up to kiss him, licking dirtily into his mouth and fucking his tongue against Alex’s, wet and hot and with hardly any finesse. It’s sloppy, the way they’re rocking against each other, and Alex revels in the feeling of John’s ass flexing under his hands as he drives his hips forward.

John’s cock slips out of alignment with Alex’s for a second and he pushes forwards into the give of Alex’s belly and he groans, low and needy. His hips jerk inelegantly as he rubs himself against Alex’s tummy, grinding against the pudge that Alex dislikes so much, and he groans again, capturing Alex’s mouth in a deep kiss that’s all tongue. Alex whines, arches up against him, and John pulls away, breathing hard.

“ _Querida,_ ” he whispers, “Alexander, fuck, fuck, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, just tell me-”

“Wanna be inside you,” Alex says in a rush and John groans immediately. Alex watches him with wide eyes, feeling once again completely unable to process this moment, the beauty of John, the fact that he gets to touch and kiss him, every inch of him on display for Alex. He lets go of his ass and trails his hands up his hips, over his waist and ribs, drags his fingers over his shoulders and back, his arms, up into his hair. Pulls him down so that he can kiss the column of his throat, lick the salt off his skin, trace his freckles with the tip of his tongue. John lets out a breathy noise and grinds his hips against Alex’s again, rubbing their cocks together.

“Lube,” Alex gasps, “Condoms, we need-” and John nods rapidly, going to scramble around in his bedside drawer. He pulls out a bottle of lube but makes a frustrated noise, shaking out the condom box only to find it empty.

Alex raises his eyebrows. “Exactly how much sex have you been having?” he asks dryly.

John rolls his eyes. “Had to fuck you out of my system somehow, right?”

“I’m about to fuck myself back in,” Alex says nonsensically and John barks a laugh, bright and happy, his nose scrunching up in delight.

“I think that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said,” he giggles and Alex pinches him in the side, pouting.

“Forget it, come on, come on,” he babbles, jerking his hips up to remind John of their situation.

“Condoms?” John asks, looking down at him with an amused quirk to his lips. “Do you have any?”

Alex groans and flings his arms out to the side. “I do, but they’re all the way over there,” he says dejectedly, pointing to the other side of the room at his bed.

“That’s a long way away,” John says mournfully, staring at Alex’s bed.

“Fuck it,” Alex says, “I can just use my fingers, fuck you on my fingers, it’ll be fine, great even, just-” he pulls John down, kisses him quickly, flicking his tongue against his lips. “Come on, wanna be in you, John, please.”

“I wanted to ride you, though,” John pouts and Alex groans, thumping his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes. He rubs his thumbs against John’s hips, imagining it, imagining John bouncing on his cock, watching John work himself down onto Alex, his thighs and his abs flexing, his dick slapping against his belly.

“Fuck, fuck,” Alex whines, “Go get the condoms, come on, quick,” and he taps John’s ass to get him moving. John clambers off him, rubbing his ass where Alex has left a small red mark, and walks on shaky legs to Alex’s bedside table. Alex watches how his body moves, long and graceful, the slope of his ass and the curve of his thighs, the dimples that sit at the bottom of his spine, and licks his lips in anticipation. He gets a hand around himself, strokes himself off as John rummages around his bedside table, fisting himself in a tease, spreading the wetness at the head all down his length in a slow slide.

“Why do you have so much fucking stuff,” John mutters, “It’s paper, all of it’s paper, you have a laptop for fucks sake Alex, why do you keep all this crap?”

“Stop criticising my life choices and find the goddamn condoms so I can fuck you,” he huffs and John glares at him. Alex feels a bubble of laughter well up inside his chest at the situation: John crouched down, naked and hard, surrounded by Alex’s disorganised mass of papers, looking for condoms so Alex can fuck him until he cries, potentially. That’s what he wants, anyway, he thinks, watching John as he finally finds the condoms and all but rips a few out and makes his way over.

He dumps them on the bedside table, clambers over Alex again, perched on his thighs. “For tomorrow,” he says, grinning, and Alex’s breath hitches at the promise.

“Want me to open myself up or do you want the honours?”

Alex glares at him, grabs the lube from his hand and pumps some out over his fingers. John grins down at him, his tongue poking between his teeth, and Alex ends up rolling his eyes and biting his lip to stop himself from smiling.

“Shuffle up,” he says, tapping John’s thigh and John obediently moves forward, leaning over so his cock rubs up against Alex’s. Alex sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes for a second, sending a prayer to whoever’s up there to thank them for this. John whines, bites his shoulder, leans up to kiss him and Alex sighs into it happily.

He grabs John’s ass with one hand and John pushes back into his palm, eager. He groans into Alex’s mouth and Alex presses little kisses to his lips, shushing him. He drags his fingers, dry, down John’s crack and lingers over his hole until John whines.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he bites out and Alex huffs a short laugh.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I’m not allowed to touch the goods.”

“You’re doing entirely too much touching is the problem, I want you _inside_ me,” John grits out, impatient.

Alex hums and brings his other hand up, replaces his dry fingers with wet ones, and teases around John’s rim. He’s hot, pushing his ass back and gasping as Alex presses down but not in, a steady pressure that has him squirming.

“ _Inside me,_ ” John repeats and Alex obliges, sliding a finger in down to the first knuckle, and then the second, listening to John breathe out a steadying breath.

Alex slowly starts to pump his finger in and out, the angle a little weird but not terrible, and John slumps into him, breathing wetly into his shoulder. He wiggles and whines, pressing his ass back further, and Alex pushes in a second finger without warning, sinking into him and setting up a firm rhythm. The lube makes wet squelching noises as he fucks his fingers in and he shivers, feeling his dick twitch. John starts to rock back and forth, chasing the movement, and his cock rubs against Alex’s stomach, his balls brushing Alex’s length what with how high up he’s sitting. Alex hisses and fucks his fingers in faster, twisting them and spreading them, searching out John’s prostate. John jolts when he brushes over it, his fingertips dragging against the nerves, and Alex shushes him, pets over his sweaty back and aims to hit that spot with every thrust.

John’s groaning steadily and mumbling under his breath, his breathing laboured, and Alex watches the way his body moves, his brown skin glistening with sweat, watches how his fingers sink in and out of John’s ass, how John spreads his thighs and arches his back obscenely.

Alex fumbles to get his other hand around John’s cock, fisting it messily, and a small part of him can’t believe this is the first time tonight he’s managed to touch it. He can feel how thick and heavy he is and he revels in swirling his fingers around the head of John’s cock and picking up the beads of precum that well there, sliding them down his shaft to ease the way. John jerks and moans, panting, whispering Alex’s name and a mixture of garbled words that sounds ever so sweet to Alex’s ears.

“You feel so good John,” Alex says, “So hot, so tight, so good for me, all for me, my John.”

He listens to John gasp as he presses another finger to his rim, easing it carefully inside him, the angle a little more awkward now he’s three fingers deep. His wrist is starting to ache but he wants to stretch John out properly, wants to make sure this is good for him, but John seems to have other ideas.

“Enough, enough,” he insists, batting Alex’s hand away from his dick and pushing himself up. He kisses Alex, breathing deep through his nose, and reaches for a condom.

“But you’re not-” Alex starts but John actually reaches behind him and grabs Alex’s wrist, pulling his fingers out with a groan.

“I like the stretch, it’s good, I promise, just _get in me,_ ” he says breathlessly and Alex feels his cock jump. John hums, tears the condom packet open and rolls it down Alex’s length. It’s ridiculous, but his eyes roll back a little at the touch, neglected as he’s been for the past few minutes, sensitive and feeling already a little too close to the edge.

John pumps some lube out onto his fingers and spreads it down the condom and Alex still bucks up even though the sensation is dulled. He’s impatient now, restless and eager to be inside John, finally, after all this time. It’s not like sex is the be all and end all but Alex wants to be as close to John as possible and being _inside_ him, actually in his body, makes him shudder, a primal part of him shaking loose and simmering close to the surface.

John grips the base of his cock and shifts his body so he’s teasing the head against his rim, open and hot, and Alex fastens his hands onto John’s hips and watches him with wide eyes, hovering over him, his cock hard and his chest heaving and all his freckles standing out beautifully on top of the flush on his skin.

John nudges the head of Alex’s cock just inside him, slides down an inch or so, and Alex has to bite his lip to stop himself from jerking his hips up and pushing himself all the way in. John’s tight around him, not quite stretched enough to make it easy, but he’s slick and he’s clenching down around his cock like he wants to suck him inside all at once. John groans, his eyes fluttering shut, and presses his hands against Alex’s belly to steady himself. He lifts up and slides himself down another inch, over and over and over, until he’s got all of Alex in him and Alex is flexing his fingers on his hips, trying his hardest to stay still.

John rocks above him, his eyes closed and his mouth open, rolling his hips and grinding himself onto Alex until Alex snaps and lifts him up, slams his hips up and drives his cock into him, hard.

“ _Oh,_ ” John gasps, and he presses his hands harder into Alex’s belly and starts to lift himself up and drop back down, rolling his hips as he does so they establish a slow and deep rhythm, Alex’s eyes rolling back at how hot and tight John is around him, how he looks, sweating and bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Alex breathes, groping John’s ass, digging his fingers in. John whines and lifts himself up faster, breathing hard. His hair is frizzing around his head and his cheeks and chest have gone red with exertion and Alex wants to kiss every inch of him.

“Come here,” he says, pushes at John’s back until he falls forward so Alex can kiss him. The angle changes and they both groan into each other’s mouths, Alex’s dick sliding sweetly in and out as he thrusts his hips up in time with John’s rolling rhythm. He sucks on John’s bottom lip, gets it red and shiny and swollen, buries his fingers deep in his hair and kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

“Fuck,” John mumbles over and over whenever their lips part. Alex agrees with him wholeheartedly, his brain and body swept away by the blistering sensation of John’s body, the heat of him, the weight of him, his fingers sliding over Alex’s skin. He bends his knees and plants his feet on the bed, holds onto John’s hips again and fucks into him harder. John cries out, hisses through his teeth, and pinches Alex’s nipples.

“ _Hostias_ ,” he groans and John smirks, rubs his nail into Alex’s nipple, makes him lose his rhythm and thrust into him inelegantly.

“I got you, I got you,” John says, takes Alex’s hands from his hips and pins them to the pillow next to his head, uses his grip as leverage and starts to fuck himself on Alex’s cock again.

“Fuck, you feel good, could do this all day, could bounce on your cock all day, drive you crazy with it, would you like that? Hm, _cariño?_ You’d like that?” he says and Alex whines, throws his head back, tries to jerk his hips up as best he can, drive his cock deeper.

John grins wickedly and slows his movements into a teasing grind. “You’re not gonna let me do the work? I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted you under me, wanted you in me. Thought about this,” he gasps, and Alex’s guesses the head of his cock is pushing against John’s prostate, “Got off thinking about this so many times, thinking about you, making you come. I’ve jerked off in bed with you only feet away thinking about this, about all the things I could do to you.”

“John, John, John,” Alex chants, dizzy.

“Alexander,” John says in return, “It’s so good, you’re so good, Alex, Alex-” and he bows his back and comes, white seed spilling from the head of his cock, dripping all over Alex’s belly. He tightens all his muscles and Alex whines, curls his toes up, and watches him work through his orgasm, eyes screwed shut, pretty red mouth dropped open, his abs and thighs and shoulders tensing until he moans and flops forwards.

“Fuck, John,” Alex says desperately. He’s so hard and so close he could almost cry, still inside John, wrapped up in his heat, and John hums, kisses his shoulder, lets go of where he’s holding Alex’s arms down.

“Go crazy,” he mumbles, kisses sloppily at Alex’s neck and Alex can’t help but thrust his hips up with the permission.

“You sure? It’s not gonna hurt?” he asks.

“It’s a good hurt, I promise, feels good,” and John sounds almost drunk, slurring, but Alex is too far gone to question it.

He fucks his hips up, his cock sliding in and out of John’s ass, taking him so well, so easily, now his orgasm has swept through him and relaxed all his muscles. The lube makes filthy noises as Alex thrusts into him and he shudders, whines, chases the incredible feeling, so close to the edge.

John sucks on his jaw again, keeps on making happy little noises in his ear, and Alex wraps his arms tight around his waist and pulls him close, presses their chests together. He can’t move well at this angle but it’s enough, it’s more than enough, and he thumps his head back onto the pillow when his orgasm rips through him, spilling into the condom, his cock twitching and jumping from the force of it.

“Good boy, good boy,” John murmurs, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his collarbone and Alex huffs a strangled laugh, slips out of him. John whines but keeps pressing kisses into Alex’s skin like he can’t stop himself.

They lie there, spent and happy, for a few minutes while their heart rates calm down, until John shifts and they both groan when his come, tacky and drying, pulls uncomfortably at their skin.

“That’s gross, this is gross, we need to clean up,” Alex says but doesn’t actually move.

“Fuck it,” John says, “Just throw the condom in the vague direction of the bin and we’ll deal with it in the morning. Clean up later, cuddles now.”

Alex hums, rubs up and down his back, and John slumps into him.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “Let’s at least unstick ourselves,” and John groans but pushes himself up and off Alex’s body, flops onto his side. Alex grins down at him, giddy, and gets rid of the condom, tying it off and hearing it go splat on the other side of the room, wincing and hoping it landed in the bin and not on the floor.

“That’s gross, you’re gross,” John mimics. Alex pokes him in the side.

“You’re lovely,” Alex replies and his voice is soft. John blinks up at him and a smile stretches slow across his face.

“You’ll not forget that in the morning, will you,” he says smugly. Alex rolls his eyes.

“For fucks sake, you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” John grins at him. “Get here,” he continues and pulls Alex down so they’re face to face, their legs tangling together automatically. Alex strokes over his side, his ribs, watches the way John shivers and trembles, smiling.

“Get here, get here,” he repeats pulling him closer. “With me,” he murmurs, “Always with me.”

“Always with you,” Alex says. Watches John’s eyes slip shut. “Always.”

 

.

 

It’s almost too sunny outside and Alex has to squint his eyes hard for a few seconds, allowing himself to adjust to the bright light. The afternoon has brought with it a slight wind that chills through him and makes him shiver as he steps out of the tent and takes a few tentative steps forward. He can see John, standing and staring out across the lake, far away from any other straggling guests.

His feet move automatically, like he’s magnetically attracted towards John, like he’s the poor fish who swallowed the hook and got stuck on the end of the line, getting reeled in. He feels kind of numb, if he thinks about it, like a lethargic sort of anesthetic is spreading through his veins the closer he gets to John. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism, he thinks absently, like he’s trying to build up all his walls just in case.

He doesn’t really know what to say, is the thing. He knows John knows he’s there because his back tenses up and Alex shifts on his feet, unsure of what move he should make, what he should say. He doesn’t even entirely know what he’s hoping to get out of this. Well, that’s a lie, because his heart screams that he wants John back, wants him always, but he blocks it off as swiftly and firmly as he can. It’s best not to get his hopes up, he thinks.

He lifts his hand, intends to place it on John’s back but thinks better of it. Steps around him so they’re both looking out over the lake, shoulder to shoulder, in stiff silence.

“You-” John breaks the silence abruptly and Alex almost snaps his own neck with the speed at which he whips his head around.

“You’re not dating Lafayette? You’re single? This whole time you’ve been single?” His voice sounds strained, incredulous.

Alex slowly, carefully, nods.

“You lied to me?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Alex says, grasping at straws. He makes another aborted movement, to touch John, to calm the angry energy that’s pouring off him in waves, but thinks better of it. “I already told Laf I’d do it, I didn’t know you’d be here or I wouldn’t have come, I swear.”

“You wouldn’t have come,” John repeats flatly. Alex winces.

“Not- Not like that, let me just-” he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh and takes out his hair tie with trembling fingers, shaking out his hair and dragging his hands through the strands. “You opened the door, and my heart just _fell,_ right down to my boots. And you pretended you didn’t know me, what the fuck was that?”

It’s John’s turn to wince now. “You still _lied_ to me-”

“-No, what the fuck, you don’t get to pass off blame here, things would have been much easier if we were upfront with our past. It wouldn’t have been a big deal like, yeah, ha ha, we used to date, and everyone would have _moved on,_ but you just flat out acted like we were strangers.”

John steps forward, every part of him tensed up. “But we didn’t just date, did we, Alexander,” he says and his voice is shaking, barely controlled, “We were fucking engaged, we were going to get married, and you show up on some other man’s arm, looking so different, looking so _happy_ , what the fuck was I supposed to do?”

Alex opens his mouth but no words come out. It hasn’t been lost on him, the irony of seeing John again at a wedding, an event that they never got to have, that they’d planned but never saw through. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, what John’s thinking right now. There are too many possibilities, too many chances this could end up hurting him even more.

The silence drags on and John makes a strangled noise and his hands fly up to his hair, drag through it to the base of his skull like he wants to pull it back but it’s not long enough, not anymore.

“God, I can’t believe it was a lie all along, I thought, I genuinely thought,” he runs his hands through his hair again, over and over, “I mean, I was convinced, man, you and Lafayette are great actors!” When he laughs, it’s ugly sounding, raw and bitter. “You had me fooled! I thought you were in love with each other, you were all over each other, I saw you-”

He breaks off abruptly, swallowing, and Alex furrows his brow.

“Saw me what?” he asks, tentative and confused.

“That first night, I saw you and him, going at it against the wall. Don’t tell me there’s nothing there, you guys fucked, you _told_ me, _Lafayette’s_ told me in way too much detail for my liking,” he spits.

Alex shakes his head. “I can sleep with whoever I like, I don’t have to be dating them. Hell, I’ve slept through more people on this guest list than just you and Lafayette! Laf is my best friend, we’re close, and we’ve been intimate, but not this week, and there’s nothing actually _there._ ”

John blinks at him for a few seconds. “ _More_ than just me and Lafayette?”

“Oh, God,” Alex pinches the bridge of his nose. “There were a few ill thought out flings after we ended and they’ve come back to haunt me, apparently, because this week appears to be one giant test of my ability to handle stress.”

John blinks at him again. “ _Who?_ ”

“Does it _matter?_ ” Alex says, strangled, and John nods, vehemently. “Oh for- Angelica and Maria, does that satisfy you? Are you happy now?”

“No, I’m not happy,” John says in a small voice.

Alex stares at him in silence, clenches his jaw. John looks lost, most of his anger having abandoned him, and his eyes are wide and troubled looking. Alex wants to wrap his arms around him, wants to pull his head down and press kisses into his hair, murmur sweet nothings into his skin, but for all the words that have gone flying in the past few minutes they still haven’t actually fucking _said_ anything.

Alex is going to change that, now.

“Look,” he says, his voice low, “We obviously have some issues we need to sort out,” and John has the audacity to snort but Alex just ignores him and continues on.

“Neither of us fucking talked to each other, we didn’t talk to each other, when it ended, we just let it happen in silence. It’s been three years and I still have so many questions, so many wounds that haven’t healed right, and this week has just piled more on top of that, and I refuse to leave here tomorrow morning without at least having attempted-” his voice breaks and he swallows.

“You want to fight for something? What exactly are you fighting for?” John asks him.

Alex breathes out a shaky breath. _You_ , he thinks, _us_ , but says, “I’m not sure,” instead. “Closure, maybe?”

John takes a step back, turns to look out across the lake again, away from Alex.

“I’m not sure I can give you that,” he says slowly.

Alex wants to fucking scream, trying to search for the meaning lying beneath John’s words, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to close this,” John whirls around, his eyes alight with a passion Alex hasn’t seen in far too long. “I don’t want to just, shut the book and put it back on the shelf and never look at it again. This isn’t an ending, this is a _beginning._ ”

He licks his lips, takes a step forward. “Don’t you see?” and his voice is hushed now, quiet, heavy with emotion Alex can’t place. “Can’t you see it? I’m not here to say goodbye, Alexander.”

“John,” Alex manages, his voice thick. John takes another step forward and lifts his hands to cup Alex’s shoulders, gentle, like Alex is something fragile.

“This could be a fresh start,” he whispers.

“You said you wanted to be friends,” Alex says numbly and John’s hands slip off his shoulders, hang at his sides, limp.

“I did,” he says, “I do. If you still want to be friends.”

Alex feels something inside him snap, hot, desperate. “And what if I want more?” he challenges. “I don’t want to go back to what it was like when I first met you, pining after you, wishing you were mine. I was young and scared back then but I’m not young anymore,” he licks his lips, squeezes his eyes shut, takes a chance. “And I refuse to be scared. I don’t want to be friends with you John, it’s not _enough_ , it would never be _enough_.”

He dares to open his eyes and John is staring at him, hardly breathing, his mouth dropped open.

“Kiss me,” he says.

“What?” Alex says back.

“Kiss me, Alex, kiss me before I like, spontaneously combust or something, please, just-” and he steps forward, cups Alex’s face in his hands, looks desperate.

“Kiss me,” he whispers and Alex leans up on his tiptoes and presses his lips to John’s.

It’s so familiar, the sensation of John’s lips on his, the sweet curve of his cupid's bow, the way he angles his head, the way his hands frame Alex’s face. It’s so much like their first kiss that it makes Alex want to cry. This is their first kiss, all over again, and it’s bittersweet, but it’s wonderful.

John’s breath is shaky and Alex’s heart is beating in triple time, worryingly fast, as they kiss. His fingers are trembling where they’re pressed against Alex’s cheeks and Alex lifts his hands up, wraps them around John’s wrists, keeps him there. He can feel John’s pulse hammering under his skin. His lips are warm and he moves his mouth slowly, like he’s trying to savour this, in the same way that Alex is frantically trying to impress every single little detail into his memory so it will stay there forever, never forgotten, always with him.

Eventually, his toes start to ache and he has to pull away to plant himself solidly on the ground, lest he fall over. It wouldn’t surprise him, honestly, he feels so dazed and weak that a strong wind could knock him over right now. But John holds onto him, slides his hands from his cheeks down past his shoulders and eventually around his waist, pulls him close. Alex buries his face in John’s chest, breathes in the clean smell of his suit and the more familiar scent of his sweat and cologne, the same as it’s always been, as long as Alex has known him.

There’s a slight chill that rolls across the lake and Alex shivers, slides his hands under John’s suit jacket to steal his warmth. John’s murmuring things that Alex can’t quite make out, pressing kisses against his hair over and over, rubbing his back in small circles.

“John,” Alex says, pulls away, “John I-”

“Shh,” John quiets him, strokes his hair. “Let me just have this, just for a moment.”

Alex wants to say that John can have this _every_ moment, that he can have this forever if he wants because Alex is more than willing to give it to him, but John leans down and kisses him again, soft and slow. He licks into Alex’s mouth and curls his tongue and Alex makes a muffled noise of approval, clinging onto him tightly. His heart is beating wildly against his ribs and John has to be able to feel that, right? He should be able to know exactly how Alex feels about him without having to say any words at all, just the beat of his heart should be enough.

John goes to pull back, to breathe, but Alex yanks him down again, sucks on his bottom lip. John makes a startled noise that turns into a hum and it vibrates over Alex’s lips and all the way down his spine, making his toes curl. It’s been so long, so long since he’s had John like this, pressed against him, hearing every single sound he makes because of how close they are. John slides his tongue over Alex’s bottom lip, bites on it, and his brain goes abruptly blank, staticky, like it’s screeched to a halt all of the sudden, rendered useless under John’s onslaught.

They’re both breathing heavily when they pull apart. Alex’s lips feel swollen and he can see that John’s are, pretty and dark pink and shining slightly. His eyes are dark, too, and he’s watching Alex with a hunger that borders on desperate. He swoops in and captures Alex’s lips again, wraps his arms tight around him and kisses him hard and fast, dirty. His mouth almost bruises Alex with all the force he puts into it, and Alex responds in kind, trying to communicate all his frustration, his hurt and anger and stress, all of it goes into the kiss.

“Alex,” John breathes between kisses, dipping to lick into Alex’s mouth over and over again.

“Alexander, please,” he says, “Please, let this not be just a one time thing, I can’t-”

Alex shakes his head so fast that his hair goes everywhere, already ruffled by John’s fingers. “It’s not, it’s not, I want you,” he gasps and John groans, pulls him in for another hot kiss.

Alex pushes on his chest, curls his hands into fists in his lapels. “We need to talk, though, John. This is lovely, but we need to talk.”

“Okay,” John says and kisses him another half a dozen times. Alex whimpers, unable to protest against his lips, but John eventually steps back, chest heaving.

He puts distance between himself and Alex like he can’t be touching him right now. Alex doesn’t know whether to be hurt by it or pleased, and the majority of his brain is leaning towards the latter, preferring to think that John can’t touch him because he won’t be able to resist kissing him rather than some kind of rejection.

“Okay, I’m done, let’s talk,” he says, rubs his palms on his thighs. He drags a hand through his hair, licks his lips, breathes deep. “What exactly is going on here?”

“I’m not dating Lafayette,” Alex says quickly, preferring to be honest and pull the bandaid off fast, “And I’m not over you, I’ve never been over you, and you’re here and I’m here, and I’m not saying let’s just pick up where we left off because things have changed and we’re different people but I can’t let you go, not again, I can’t.”

John blinks at him. “Sounds good,” he says.

“You have a _daughter,_ ” Alex says, voice strained.

“Fuck,” John whispers. Rubs a hand roughly over his face. “Frances, Frances, how’d I forget about her, Christ. I can’t just not bring her into this Alex, this is a big deal, we’re a package deal. I come with her and she comes with me, there’s no two ways around it.”

“I don’t want there to be,” Alex says earnestly. He wishes he could put into words how it felt to find out John was a father, to hold his baby girl in his arms, to laugh with her and cry with her and have her fall asleep on his chest, so small and fragile, so absurdly perfect.

“I have to put her first,” John says in a hoarse voice. “She’s the most important thing, Alexander, this can’t be-”

“It’s not, it won’t be,” Alex says. Takes John’s hands in his own, rubs his fingers over his knuckles. John’s got freckles on his knuckles and Alex remembers that he used to kiss them and that’s what he does now, lifts John’s hand to his lips ever so gently. John makes a choked noise and when Alex looks up he can see that his eyes are shining.

“I don’t want to be without you,” he says lowly, “And if you come with a daughter, who I happen to think is wonderful, then so be it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ll work this out, I want to work this out, I don’t want to watch you walk away again.”

John lets out a teary laugh, a miserable little noise. “I don’t know why I walked away,” and his voice cracks, “I wish I hadn’t, I’ve spent the last three years wishing I hadn’t.”

Alex shushes him, gentle. “That’s not true,” he whispers. “If you hadn’t left me then you wouldn’t have had Frances. She’s your _daughter,_ John, that’s not something I think you’d ever turn your back on. She’s your family.”

“You were my family, and I left you behind, because I was scared, because I was stupid, because I was afraid of what my dad would think.”

Alex closes his eyes. Feels the tide of emotion sweep through his chest, the hurt and pain John caused him, watching him take off his ring, watching him pack his bags and methodically erase himself from Alex’s life, watching him walk away.

“I forgive you,” he says quietly.

John shakes his head, squeezes his hands. “No you don’t, I don’t even forgive myself, how could you forgive me?”

“I understand,” Alex tells him.

“I’m so sorry,” John whispers, cracked.

Alex drags him in, wraps his arms tight around him, rubs over his back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “We’re gonna be alright, I’m not gonna leave you, not ever.”

“Always with me,” John says and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, whispers, “Always, always,” in response.

John pulls back, laughs a little, wipes his wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Better you than me, I think I’ve cried more this week than I have my entire life.”

John blinks rapidly at him, his eyebrows furrowing together. “You cried?”

Alex bites his lip, nods his head. John’s entire face crumples and Alex immediately pulls him down, presses kisses all over his cheeks. John laughs and bats him away, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Stop that. I made you cry?” he asks, incredulous.

“Sort of,” Alex says, rocking on his heels. “I was a bit… Overwhelmed. You and Frances and the whole absurd scenario, it was a bit much. I kept wanting to reach out to you and then remembering I couldn’t and each time hurt more than the last.”

John shoots him a wobbly smile. “I’d lay in my bed at night and stare at the door, knowing you were only a few feet away. I’d get as far as reaching the door handle before realising you’d be asleep with Lafayette, that you were in bed with Lafayette, your boyfriend.” He shakes his head, wipes his eyes again. Alex watches him, thinks about how he’d clung to Lafayette this past week, and is struck with the realisation that John’s had it much worse than him.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I wish I could have said something but Lafayette is my best friend and he needed me but I’m still so sorry,” he babbles and John puts his hands on his cheeks, shushes him, laughing.

“It’s okay. It sucked but it’s okay, now, we’re okay. You’re here, we’re here, together.” He swallows, searches Alex’s face with anxious eyes. “We’re together, right?”

“We’re together,” Alex rushes to say, and the relief and happiness in being able to say it, to confirm it, to have it be real makes him dizzy. He turns his head, presses a kiss into John’s palm. “I won’t leave you, not now.”

“Good,” John breathes, leans down and kisses him. Kisses him soft and sweet and slow, so sincere, every brush of his lips leaves an impression of love behind for Alex to soak up. He feels strangely high off of it, addicted to it, like he’s floating, like those few times back in college when he and John would giggle and smoke up and fuck for hours whilst completely stoned. Alex used to think he could write poetry into John’s skin, long stanzas and verses of his devotion, and it would stay with him forever. He wonders if John’s body has retained some of his words and is pouring them right back into him now.

John drags the pads of his fingers slowly over Alex’s cheeks as they kiss, hot and sweet, for so long that Alex loses track of time. His back aches from arching upwards towards John and he’s shivering steadily from the cold but it’s like he can’t feel it, is removed from it, everything is narrowed down to John’s lips and teeth and tongue.

“Fuck, it’s nice to kiss you again,” John breathes over his lips and Alex chases them, captures them, licks into his mouth wetly. John groans, slides his hand into Alex’s hair, fists the strands down at the roots and Alex’s eyes roll back into his head, groaning at the feeling.

“You remember what I like,” he says when they pull back and John huffs shortly.

“How could I forget? My _querida_ , I’ve missed this so much.”

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know,” John says, “I’m sorry I left.”

Alex digs his fingers into his back, hard. “Thank you for saying that,” and it comes out choked, “But you shouldn’t be, really, you’ve changed so much, it’s amazing. You’re so familiar but so strange at the same time, it’s crazy.”

“It’s called being a father,” John says dryly and Alex smiles.

“Exactly!” he cries. “You left and you became a father and you’re so different now, you’ve seen and done so many different things, and I want to hear about all of them. You shouldn’t be sorry you left, more like-” and he breaks off, because he doesn’t quite know where he’s going with that sentence.

John strokes through his hair with one hand, wraps the other around his waist, pulling him in tight. “I’m sorry I hurt you, then,” he murmurs.

Alex swallows. “We hurt each other.”

“I wanted you to fight for me,” John says and Alex blinks, stunned. What the fuck kind of bombshell is that to drop abruptly and without warning, and his heart makes a funny sort of spasm in his chest, painful.

“I spent the whole time I was packing wishing you’d say something,” John continues. “Hell, all those weeks before the fight, you were so quiet, you barely let me touch you. I was so hurt, I was so confused, I resented you, a little, for not telling me what was going on. I was angry, and scared, and after it all went down I wished I could take back the words, wished I could just put your ring back on my finger and have everything be alright again.”

“Why didn’t you?” Alex asks in a small voice. He can feel wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes and he curses himself in his head, feeling betrayed by his own body. He thought his tear ducts had been thoroughly exhausted from all the work he’d been putting them through this past week but apparently not.

John’s shaking his head, looking lost. “I don’t know, I honestly don’t,” he licks his lips. “I know I was scared, and I know that you said you were okay with me being in the closet, that you weren’t pushing me, but I was terrified that if I didn’t come out then I’d lose you, and on top of that I was so scared of my dad, of disappointing him, of him hating me. I was stupid, it was stupid, but at the time…”

He trails off and Alex takes a moment to just look at him, up close like this, for the first real time in years. He’s been averting his eyes all week, his heart too full of pain to linger properly on John’s face, but he’s here, now, and his heart is full of nothing but love, and John looks stricken. Alex wants to smooth the furrow in his brow away, wants to kiss his lips until he smiles again.

“You gave me back my ring,” Alex murmurs and John makes a wounded noise but Alex shushes him. “That was probably one of the top three worst moments of my life. I didn’t think you’d do that, it didn’t even occur to me, I didn’t think it was an option. It was devastating. My hands shook so hard after, I couldn’t do anything for hours. I think, maybe, that’s why I didn’t say anything, why I didn’t ask you to stay. I _couldn’t_.”

He ducks his head, looks down at their shoes, viciously shined and polished by Lafayette in a fit of pique that morning. The grass beneath their feet is long and lush and Alex tries to formulate his next thought while John strokes over his back.

“I can survive a hurricane and immediately write a ridiculously long poem about it but I can’t tell you that you’re too important to me to let you walk away, apparently. My words failed me at the most important moment,” he chokes out and John presses a kiss into his hair, rubs his fingers over the small of his back.

“You’ve said it now-”

“-Three years too late-”

“-And it’s perfect. And you’re perfect. I didn’t think I’d get a chance again, Alexander, I didn’t know if I’d even see you again. Opening the door to find you behind it was simultaneously the most incredible thing and the most goddamn awful. There you were, fucking _glowing_ , you know that? Your skin glows? It’s crazy,” he says and Alex laughs at him.

“I steal Lafayette’s exfoliating stuff in the shower sometimes,” he murmurs and John’s fingers tighten around him.

“Lafayette,” he shakes his head, “Fuck, I really wanted to hate him. Like, I told myself I should be happy that you’re happy, but there was a part of me that wanted to punch him in the face. It wasn’t even a big part because he was so damn charming the whole time, Christ,” and Alex giggles.

“He didn’t know,” he says slowly. “I didn’t tell him about you, not ever, not until after that night, at the bachelorette party. He got real protective after that, let me tell you.”

“I fucking know,” John glares at him, but there’s no real heat. He looks more disgruntled than anything but it’s cute, it’s too cute, and Alex’s heart flutters happily.

“I talked to him, apologised for it all, and he threatened me. Like, straight up threatening. The dude went really hard,” he says, eyes wide. Alex snorts.

“He kept telling me to talk to you. I know he thinks you’re great, he doesn’t actually dislike you at all. Lafayette’s not got a single malicious bone in his body. He kept telling me to talk to you, to tell you that I love you.”

“You love me?” John repeats, his voice high and reedy.

“I love you,” Alex says, looks up into his eyes earnestly. Pours everything he feels into that look, every bit of tenderness, of yearning, all his passion and fervour, all his desire, all his commitment. “I love you still, every bit of you. You’re different, now, and I want to learn every new thing about you, but the love I have for you, have always had for you, won’t ever go away.”

“I love you too,” John says, his voice thick, and he pulls Alex in for a hug, so tight and tender.

Every part of Alex feels warm, all the parts of him that that felt the pain, the trepidation, the numbing fear that John would reject him have been soothed by John’s words. His wounds are far from healed, he’ll still feel a stab of pain every time he thinks about the events that lead to their parting, but he’s so utterly grateful for this new beginning, so thankful that they can start something new, that Lafayette and his stupid dumb boyfriend broke up and he asked Alex to this wedding, unknowingly setting him on the path to happiness. It’s not been an easy journey; in fact, this past week has been pretty goddamn horrific, but he’s pulled through, they’ve pulled through, he’s fucking stood here with John in his arms, a sensation he didn’t think he’d ever get to feel again.

He sniffs into John’s suit jacket, listens to him murmuring his love over and over again. John keeps pressing kisses into his hair after every time he says it like it’ll seal it into his skin.

They stand there for some time, wrapped up in each other, until the wind from the lake chills them so much that they’re both shivering.

John rubs up and down his arms in a vain effort to warm him. “Come on, let’s go back inside,” he says, “It’ll be warmer in there and I want to dance with you.”

Alex nods, slips his hand into John’s, doesn’t let himself cry at the pure simplicity of this feeling: holding hands with John again, their fingers fitting and twisting together like not a single day has passed.

“Just to clear things up,” John says, stops short just before they reach the tent flap to go inside. Alex furrows his brow, looks at him in confusion. John smiles at him, touches the corner of his mouth, strokes his finger there ever so lightly.

“You’re not dating Lafayette, you’re dating me,” and his voice is hard and Alex almost fucking _chokes_ on his laughter, bent double, gasping for breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still giggling, “I’m sorry, I just-” and John pouts at him and sets him off laughing all over again.

He breathes deep through his nose, trying to calm down, wipes his eyes too for good measure. Maybe his body is trying to dispel all the hysteria that’s welled up inside of him, this weird disbelief that this is happening has been channelled into uncontrollable giggling. John’s still pouting at him and Alex goes up on his tiptoes, presses a soft kiss against his frown. Feels his heart flutter at the simpleness of the gesture, the ease.

“I am not dating Lafayette,” he says, grinning, “I’m dating you.”

“I’m glad we got that all sorted,” John mumbles, smiling now. Alex smiles indulgently back, giddy, his heart feeling about six sizes too big for his chest.

It’s sort of weird, stepping back into the marquee together. They’re holding hands, tightly. Alex realises that to everyone else who isn’t Lafayette, this development might seem a little strange. Well, maybe Angelica too, but she found out at the same time as John that the whole week has been a sham. Then again, she could have been expecting this. She certainly hinted enough that he and John should work things out. Alex suspects that maybe she always thought he and John should get their shit together. He recalls the conversation on the stairs, the way she seemed to forget about Lafayette existing entirely, and think that he’s probably right.

Most of the crowd of guests don’t know who they are and therefore don’t give a damn, but they get some funny looks off of Adrienne’s siblings, especially Louis, who looks a little betrayed that Alex and Lafayette are no longer a thing. He catches Angelica’s eye and she blinks, looks between John and Alex’s faces and their joined hands a few times, and then twitches a small smile.

“So, you slept with her, huh?” John leans down and murmurs in his ear, teasing, and Alex treads lightly on his foot.

“To be fair, I did sleep with her before we got together, too,” he muses and John lets out a startled, “Wait, what?”

Alex turns to look up at him, eyes deliberately wide and overly innocent. “I didn’t tell you about that?” and John shakes his head. Alex grins. “There was a party, about a week before we got together.”

“You slept with her _a week_ before we got together?” John asks in a high voice.

“More like four days,” Alex says in consideration. “And you have no leg to stand on, Mr. There-Aren’t-Any-Condoms-Left-In-The-Condom-Box. What exactly were _you_ doing before we got together?”

John lowers his lashes, a flush rising on his skin. “Point taken,” he mumbles and Alex huffs, presses a palm to his cheek, strokes over his freckles. John leans into it, drops a kiss on the heel of his hand.

When he turns around, Angelica is back talking with some tall guy in a purple suit, wild curls springing around his head. He must be the Thomas she mentioned, he thinks, and watches the man gesticulate a little too widely and almost punch someone in the face.

He frowns, digs his elbow into John’s side. “Does he remind you of someone?” he asks.

John leans down, presses their cheeks together so he can see from Alex’s angle. It’s earnest and sweet and Alex doesn’t think John’s even aware of how adorable he’s being, wants to tell him, but settles for pressing his lips together in a smile and trying to contain the way his heart flutters madly.

“Sort of?” John says, but they’re interrupted before Alex can open his mouth to ask him to elaborate.

“ _Mon coeur!_ ” Lafayette cries as he shimmies his way over, pushing the throng of people out of the way and apologising to a particularly disgruntled relative while he’s at it.

“Alexander!” He stops in front of them, practically vibrating, eyes bright and glancing between them with delight. “And John!” and he grabs John’s face in his hands, plants two exceptionally sloppy kisses against his cheeks. John blinks, startled, and tentatively pats his back. Alex rather suspects his friend has had too much champagne.

“I’m sorry for saying I knew someone who could murder you,” he says, pats John’s cheek inelegantly. John blinks at him, throws a frantic look at Alex to which Alex responds with a bemused shrug.

“That’s… Okay,” John says eventually, pulling Lafayette’s fingers away from his face. Lafayette giggles, twines their fingers together, and Alex snorts at the alarmed look on John’s face.

“You two sorted things out,  _oui?_ You talked?” Lafayette asks, nodding his head like he’s encouraging them for some unknown reason.

“We did,” Alex replies, takes John’s hand out of Lafayette’s, tangles their fingers together instead.

“Ah,” Lafayette breathes, pretends to wipe a tear dramatically away from his eye. “Young love. _C’est trés beau, non?_ ”

John nods at him, still a little bewildered, and Alex squeezes his hand. John squeezes back, smiles down at him. His freckles crinkle up just slightly. Alex wants to kiss him.

“How’s it going with Father Washington?” he asks, to distract himself.

Lafayette makes a clucking noise in the back of his throat and spins around, points across the room. Alex follows his finger and finds Father Washington nodding and chatting to some middle aged ladies, eating the tiny platters of food they force on him, smiling. If he notices Lafayette blatantly staring at him then he’s doing a valiant job of pretending it’s not happening.

“I think he is shy,” Lafayette says forlornly, dropping his hand. He tilts his head, pouts his lips, and Alex snorts at him.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Lafayette makes a considering hum. “It is different. I do not think he will bed me tonight but I find that I don’t mind. Perhaps I can convince him to stay awake with me, talk to me. That would be nice.”

Alex blinks, trades a look with John. Why he does this he doesn’t know, because John doesn’t know a single thing about Lafayette outside of this week, so he’s just blankly blinking back at him. Alex rolls his eyes in exasperation.

Lafayette wants to stay up and _talk_ to this guy? _Just_ talk? Far be it from Alex to dictate what Lafayette does with his relationships, but he doesn’t generally _talk_ to them all that much. Lafayette tends to lean towards the physical, the spark of two bodies colliding, and dutifully puts up with dates and hand holding and pet names. He has friends for all the other stuff, intimate friends like Alex and Hercules who will watch movies with him, cuddle with him, take him nice places and treat him, let him treat them. Alex has never observed him actively wanting to connect with someone sexually _and_ emotionally, as it were. He’s had boyfriends, a sparse scattering of girlfriends, but he’s never sighed over anybody the way he’s sighing over Father Washington right now.

Alex looks back at the priest, watches him decline a glass of champagne with a gentle hand. Watches him accept a dance with one of the ladies, keep six inches of distance between their bodies at all times, leading her carefully around the dance floor as she giggles and trips over her feet a little. Watches him guide her to a chair, get her a glass of water, sit with her while she sips at it.

“I think that sounds nice,” he says eventually and Lafayette sighs, a sad, longing sound.

“I will go talk to him now, I think,” he says, shoots a soft smile at Alex. Presses his fingers into his cheek. “I am happy for you, _mon ami._ I hope you are happy too.”

“Very,” Alex whispers, kisses his thumb, pushes at his chest so he stumbles backwards. Lafayette laughs, his nose scrunching up, and he almost collides with a stray guest, pulling a face at Alex and stumbling his way through the centre of the dance floor rather than going around it.

“I like him,” John says decisively.

“Who did he say that he knew could murder you?” Alex asks.

John hums. “Surprisingly enough, Aaron Burr.”

Alex nods slowly. “That sounds like an adept prediction. Burr is probably a murderer in the making,” he says, thinking about how Burr axes seventy percent of the articles he submits to the college paper. The dude needs to unwind before he actually strangles someone to death, Alex muses absently.

“Should I be concerned that you still hang out with quote, 'potential murderers in the making', unquote?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Dance with me,” he says instead of answering, tugs on John’s hand and pulls him onto the dance floor. John grins, follows him, spins under Alex’s arm with a little difficulty considering their height difference but lets Alex lead, lets Alex guide him, hold him.

He takes a moment to just… Absorb everything that’s happened. Sort out the events in his mind and let them sink in, understand them, get his heart and his head to catch up to one another. He doesn’t think it’s quite hit him, yet, that it’s _John._ That he’s got John, John is his, he is John’s, and all the crap they’ve been through hasn’t been forgotten and the slate wiped clean, but rather they’ve talked about it and are on the same page and are _dancing together at a wedding._ Not their own wedding, but still. Fuck. What the fuck.

It took him days to wrap his head around the fact that John was back in his life, albeit perhaps only for a brief moment. That brief moment he thought he had, the countdown to the end of the week that’s been drumming in his head the whole time, has now got to be thrown out of the window. This new thing with John will be anything but brief: Alex wants it to last a lifetime.

He sighs and tugs John closer, pulls his head down, and John goes easily, bends his neck and stoops so he can shove his face into Alex’s shoulder, and when Alex laughs it makes John’s hair ruffle, the curls tickling his nose.

This is nice, he thinks. Closes his eyes and breathes in John’s scent. Tries to reconcile the past three years of not being near John, of not getting to touch him, with this moment. Hands on John’s waist, trembling just slightly. His nose in John’s hair, John’s chin on his shoulder. John’s hands on his back, broad and steady and strong. Their feet bumping into each other as the shuffle around the dance floor.

“You smell different,” John says, murmurs into his skin. Alex swallows.

“Different shampoo,” he says, feeling breathless and not quite understanding why. John hums, rubs his face into Alex’s shoulder like a cat.

“I miss the honey,” he whispers and Alex shivers, spine tingling, remembering all the times John would play with his hair, would shove his nose into Alex’s hair and breathe, deep, tell him he smelled like honey.

“I can buy some more,” Alex says. “I stopped using it because it reminded me of you.”

John pulls back, frowns at him. “Really?”

Alex nods slowly. “It was hard, in the beginning. I was still in our apartment, I was still surrounded by you, even though you’d taken all your stuff. You left some things behind, actually, I should give them back to you.”

John shakes his head. “You should have just chucked them. I can’t believe you kept them this long.”

Alex shrugs. “I have a whole drawer full of stuff to do with you,” he says, then rolls his eyes, embarrassed. “That makes it sounds like there’s loads of stuff; it’s just some of your sketching pencils, that watch you broke and never got around to fixing, some clothes, and your bong, actually.” He blinks. “Do you want that back?”

John widens his eyes dramatically. “ _That’s_ where my bong went? I thought I’d lost it, damn. I want that back for sure,” he grins and Alex pokes him.

“You’re an adult, you’re a _father,_ stop being terrible,” he stops dancing for a second, looks around the room. “Speaking of: where is Frances?”

“Uh,” John says eloquently. “I left her with Jeanne, she said she’d let me do my best man duties or whatever and look after the kids.” He cranes his neck, his eyes searching the room. When he finds them he makes this little happy gasping noise, and it results in Alex’s heart flip flopping strangely in his chest. He dutifully follows John as he leads him across the room, over to where Jeanne is cradling Phillippine in one arm and holding Frances on her knee with the other.

“There you are,” she says, her accent thick. “It is evening, they want to sleep,” and she bounces Frances on her knee whose sleepy eyes barely even open.

John crouches in front of her, swipes a curl out of her eyes and pins it behind her ear. “Hey, darling,” he says in the softest voice Alex thinks he’s ever heard, “Are you awake? You gon’ say hi to your Papi? Say hi to Alexander?”

Frances smacks her lips together, yawns, thrusts her hand blindly in the direction of her father’s voice. John catches her tiny fingers in his own, squeezes them a little, then reaches out and pulls her into his arms, settling her into his shoulder. Frances’ head lolls and she cuddles into him, blinking slowly.

“It’s gone seven, I should put her down,” he says, directing it towards Alex. Alex startles, is confused for a second as to why John’s addressing him. Frances is his baby girl, his daughter, he doesn’t need to look to Alex for some kind of approval.

It occurs to him, after a beat of silence, that John wants to include him in this. That John’s trying to invite him into his and Frances' little circle, that he’s extending his hand for Alex to take, metaphorically, and be pulled into their family orbit.

“Okay,” Alex says, feeling a bit dazed. “Did she nap earlier, or?”

John shakes his head. “I kept her awake for the ceremony, if I put her down now then she’ll sleep the whole night through.”

Alex pouts. “Do you mean to tell me that I won’t get another three A.M. _agua_ break?”

John smiles, a nervous sort of small thing. “I mean, there are other times that you could have a three A.M. _agua_ break, potentially. In the future.”

He clears his throat, looks away from Alex’s grinning face, but Alex is too happy to care about his embarrassment. “I’ll hold you to it,” he says quietly and John ducks his head to hide his smile.

“Alright, I’m gonna go put her down now. You find Eliza and Adrienne and explain things,” he says in a rush and starts to walk off. Alex blinks in alarm, rushes to catch up to him.

“Wait, wait, what? What do you mean _I_ should talk to Eliza and Adrienne? They’re your friends, you know them better, surely I should put Frances to bed and _you_ should talk to them.”

“They’re less likely to yell at you, though,” John points out, smirking when Alex can’t quite formulate an argument in response.

“See you later,” he says and strides away. Alex watches him go for a second, wrapped up in just gazing at John’s effortless enrapturing beauty.

“Come back A.S.A.P!” he calls, “I want to eat cake and drink champagne and dance with you!”

He thinks he hears John laugh but is too far away to really make it out. He doesn’t like to think it but he’s also unfamiliar with John’s laugh, hasn’t really heard it in such a long time that it’s faded a little in his memory. He resolves to crystallize it in his mind, to set it as his ringtone, to make John laugh so much and so hard that he’ll never go a day without hearing it. With that path of action decided, he goes to find Eliza and Adrienne.

It’s weird, explaining things to them. They stare at him unblinking while he narrates the entire story, probably talking far too much and waving his hands around in way that could potentially be alarming, but when he finishes and bites his lip, anxious as to their response, they just look at each other for a second and then turn back to him.

“So, we’ll be seeing a lot more of you, then,” Eliza says, like it’s a given.

Alex swallows. “I hope so?”

Adrienne nods, decisively, and takes his hand, squeezes it warmly. “You are a nice man, I think. It seems that you and John love each other, _non?_ ”

“We-” Alex starts, remembers John mumbling his love into his hair over and over only half an hour ago, prays that he means it. “We’re in love, we love each other, yes, very much,” he ends up babbling.

Eliza and Adrienne’s grins are almost blinding, they’re so bright. “Well that’s settled then,” Eliza chirps, “We’ll have to have you around for dinner some time, get to know you without Lafayette attached to your hip.”

“You were very convincing you know,” Adrienne says, looking thoughtful. Alex winces.

“Yeah, I know, I didn’t,” he flaps his hands about inelegantly, “I didn’t expect it to turn out like this. And I’m sorry we lied to you.”

Adrienne tuts at him. “I accept your apology, but Lafayette should apologise for himself. I won’t let him, how you say? Worm out of it?”

Eliza scrunches up her nose. “Wriggle? Squirm? Worm works just fine, though.”

Adrienne stares blankly at her. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“That’s okay,” Eliza grins, “You don’t have to understand me, you just have to love me.”

Adrienne reels her in, arms tight around her waist, and kisses her soundly on the lips. Alex watches for a second and then politely looks away, giving them a little privacy. They’re so obviously in love, it’s in every look and every touch, and he wonders absently if he and John are the same.

Adrienne taps him on the shoulder and he turns back around, smiles softly at them.

“If you see Lafayette, send him my way,” she tells him.

“Will do,” he nods, “But he’ll likely try to hide behind Father Washington for the rest of the night.”

“It’s such a shame about that,” Eliza sighs and Alex shoots her an inquisitive look. “You know,” she continues, “You three could have been very,” and then she makes an incredibly rude hand gesture that has Alex choking on thin air.

Eliza and Adrienne’s laughter is giddy and sweet, giggles pouring out of them as they poke fun at Alex, until he spots John and makes his hasty excuses. They wave him off, catcalling as he goes, and he tries to tamp down the hot flush that’s made it’s way across his skin.

“You look flustered,” John starts to say and Alex all but collides with him, latches himself onto him like some sort of koala bear. John laughs, slides a hand into his hair, holds him close.

“Do I want to know?” he asks.

“No,” Alex says, muffled into the fabric of John’s shirt. John just hums and starts to sway along to the beat of the music, despite the fact that they’re standing nowhere near the dance floor.

Alex sinks into his embrace and is only jolted out of it when John shifts and something hard presses into his cheek. He furrows his brows, tries to figure out what it is, but when he presses his ear to it he can hear faint noises, which is weird and disquieting.

He pulls back and shoots John an odd look. “What on earth is that?” he asks.

John stares at him for a beat, and then reaches into his jacket and pulls whatever it is out. “It’s a baby monitor,” he says, waggling it in the air. “I’m not about to leave her all alone up in the house, that’d be stupid and irresponsible.”

Alex, ridiculously, feels guilty. He’d never thought of that, it hadn’t occurred to him at all. Shit, he’d be a fucking terrible father, he thinks miserably.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” John says softly, tilts his head up with a finger under his chin.

“You should never leave me alone with your baby, I’ll probably accidentally kill her,” he says, strained.

“Well, first of all: don’t joke about that, and second of all: I already left you alone with her and you handled it just fine,” John reassures him.

“She cried the whole afternoon, I don’t think I’d class that as ‘handling it fine’,” Alex frowns.

John laughs at him. “She cries all the time, Alexander, literally all the time. You didn’t fail just because a few tears were shed. You’ve been very sweet with her, it’s been-” he cuts himself off, bites his lip, and Alex wonders where the rest of that sentence was going. John continues before he can ask, lowering his eyes and avoiding Alex’s gaze.

“Do you have any idea of what it was like to watch you with her? Watching you hold her, and kiss her, and play with her, God, this week has been… Very trying,” he says eventually. Alex stares at his face, at the sweep of his eyelashes across his freckled cheeks, at his lips, pink and a little chapped.

His heart is starting to ache, just a little, spreading from the centre until it envelops his whole chest. He tries to imagine it, tries to imagine if he had a child, a little baby girl like Frances, maybe, or a boy who looked like him. Tries to imagine how it would feel to watch the love of his life hold his child, his family, in his arms. The person he’d planned to have children with, at some blurry point in the future, holding his baby, and not having it be because that baby is _theirs._

Because the imaginary baby isn’t, and Frances _isn’t;_ she’s John’s, she’s not his, she’s not theirs. John walked out of Alex’s life and walked back in with a baby, his soft baby girl, with all her freckles and wispy curls, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, the way her ears stick out just like John’s do. He can’t quite grasp how it must have felt for John to see him holding her, can’t quite imagine how it would feel if John, after three years of nothing, appeared in the doorway holding a baby, Alex’s baby, just as Alex did that first day after his nap. His heart gives a hard thump and he pushes the thought away.

“I came back to the house, that afternoon you looked after her, and I was trying to find you both. I thought you’d be upstairs, in her room, but it was empty. It looked like an absolute tip, by the way, that was fun to clean up,” John says but there’s no heat and Alex winces. Remembers how Frances had thrown a super tantrum and run about the room, flinging toys everywhere; remembers how he’d given up and sat on the floor until she’d crawled towards him.

“I knew if you weren’t in her room then you’d be in the library, so I went down and,” he huffs a breath, a vague sort of laugh that sounds entirely mirthless, “And you were on the sofa with her, stretched out, the both of you in the sun. And she was on your chest, you were cradling the back of her head with one hand, and both of you were fast asleep with your mouths open. God,” he shakes his head, “I thought I’d die right then and there.”

Alex says nothing, just watches his face. There are tiny lines around his eyes that Alex has never noticed before. He wants to kiss every single one.

“I took a picture,” John says, “I felt guilty about it but I couldn’t- I just couldn’t. I was setting it as my homescreen when I walked into the table and woke you up.”

“I remember you rubbing your hip,” Alex murmurs.

John nods and drags a hand roughly across his face. Clears his throat. “Yeah,” he sighs, “It’s been a hard week.”

“I think you’ve had it harder than me,” Alex says and John glares at him.

“I _know_ I’ve had it harder than you,” he says flatly and Alex snorts, giggles an apology immediately when John glares at him harder.

“Will cake make it better? Looks like they’re going to cut it soon,” he points to the corner where a caterer is wheeling out the cake, a modest blue and white frosted affair.

“How long after the cake is cut do you think people will stay?” John asks, apropos of nothing. Alex pulls a face.

“I don’t know? An hour? More? Less? I haven’t been to many weddings,” he replies.

John hums. “It’s just, there’s a very empty house up there, and we could be making good use of it, but instead we’re standing around talking about cake.”

Alex gapes at him.

“Well?” says John, raises his eyebrows. His lips have pulled into an infuriating smirk, the kind that Alex wants to kiss right off his mouth, the kind that blatantly issues a challenge, that promises all sorts of things that cause Alex’s brain to short out briefly.

He licks his lips, watches John’s eyes follow the movement, dark. “What exactly are we waiting for?” he says lowly and John grabs his hand and starts to tug him across the room, pace quick.

Unfortunately, they have to pass nearly everyone they know in order to get to the exit, so they find themselves on the receiving end of many a knowing look. Eliza and Adrienne are too busy shoving cake into each other’s mouths to notice but Angelica smirks at him, and he’s pretty sure he hears Lafayette shout, _get it, Alexander!_ which makes him feel hot all over and propels him to walk faster.

The journey up to the house is tense, their palms pressed together and their bodies buzzing with anticipation. Neither of them look directly at each other; privately, Alex fears he’ll fly apart if he makes eye contact with John right now, so he settles for stealing glances out of the corner of his eye like some school boy with a crush.

It’s more intense though, this isn’t just a want to hold hands and be Facebook official, this is lust pure and simple. It jolts through his body and settles low in his belly, a simmering arousal that makes every muscle in him want to simultaneously tighten up and relax. He’s impatient: wants to get his hands on John, wants to draw all the noises remembers loving the most out of him, wants to shake him apart and examine all the fragments. He wonders if John will be like he remembers, or he’ll be new, wonders if he’s slept with people who have taught him different things.

Irrationally, the thought makes Alex angry. Not jealous, per se, but a small kind of anger that wriggles around in his brain and yells that if John has learned new things, if he’s changed, then it should have been with Alex. He’s angry at himself that there’s the potential that he’s missed out, that he’s let himself miss out by letting John leave.

It’s stupid, he knows, because he’s missed out on a whole host of other things too, things that he and John should have discovered together if things hadn’t gone so badly, but it’s hitting him just now exactly _how much_ he’s missed. He was so excited before to learn this new John, to absorb every new detail about him, but now it’s soured, and he feels bitter. John is _unfamiliar,_ which is something Alex doesn’t ever want him to be.

He glances at him out the corner of his eye, finds his eyes drawn towards John’s short hair. It’s so strange to see John with his hair short, and it’s something Alex keeps tripping up over. It doesn’t look wrong or bad, it just doesn’t fit with the image of him Alex has kept in his head this whole time. He realises with a jolt that his version of John, the one he remembers, went out of date a long time ago. John went and got his hair cut because his baby girl kept pulling on it whilst Alex was entirely oblivious, still picturing John with his curls down to his shoulders, pulled back into a neat bun, splayed all over the pillows.

It’s a valid excuse, then, he thinks, to practically slam John into the door as soon as they reach the house, making John stumble and yelp.

“You couldn’t wait, huh?” he tries to say but Alex has already attached his mouth to John’s neck, is sucking a mark in, dark and hard. He wants to cover John in his marks, make him recognisable, make him Alex’s again.

“Jesus, Alex,” John pants, but he tilts his head back and Alex moves to his jaw, seals his lips on the underside, sucks another mark onto his skin.

“Upstairs,” he breathes, “Come on, come on,” and tugs at John’s shirt until they’re stumbling across the foyer and up the stairs, scrambling on the shiny wood floors.

He’s jolted out of the moment somewhat by John gesturing for him to be quiet as they make their way down the corridor, and Alex realises that Frances is asleep, and they very well may wake her up.

He blanches. “We’re not gonna… Not while she’s…” he stutters and John blinks at him.

“I’ve got the baby monitor, I’ll know if she wakes up.”

Alex freezes. “We’re gonna… With _that_ in the room?”

“Well, we kind of have to,” John says and Alex stares at him.

“We can’t, that’s- What, no,” he babbles.

John rolls his eyes. “It’s not a two way system, she can’t hear us. And it’ll be turned way down and across the room, so I’ll be able to hear her if she cries but not any other noise she makes. It’ll be fine, what’s the problem?”

Alex stares at him for a second, considering. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he says eventually and John grins, grabs his hand and pulls him the rest of the way down the corridor.

“I’ll make you forget all about it,” John whispers and Alex shivers, absurdly, because that was a hell of a cheesy line.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, and pushes John through the door. Alex is glad they’re using John’s room and not his own because he wants to smell John on the sheets, wants to surround himself with John, rather than have him in a bed that smells like himself and Lafayette.

John places the baby monitor on the chest of drawers near the bathroom, a reasonable distance from the bed, and immediately strips off his jacket and gets to work on his waistcoat. Alex stares at him as he undresses, watches the way his hands move on the buttons, the hug of the fabric around his waist, the ridiculously sexy way he strips off his tie.

“Alexander,” John’s voice comes through and Alex snaps out of it to find John’s hand stretched out towards him, an amused look on his face. “Come on,” he says, “I wanna undress you, I wanna touch every part of you, come here.”

Alex goes willingly. John presses him into the wall and takes off Alex’s suit jacket, nimble fingers on his tie, starts unbuttoning his shirt. Alex breathes through it, shivers when John’s knuckles brush against the bare skin he’s revealing, watches John’s eyes get darker and darker.

John tosses the shirt somewhere in the distance and drops to his knees, presses his face into Alex’s belly. Alex closes his eyes, revelling in the feeling of John’s breath on his skin, the wet heat of his mouth when he presses kisses to his stomach.

“Alexander,” John whispers, “You put on weight,” and Alex bites his lip, tries to squirm away, suddenly self conscious.

“No, no,” John says quickly, wraps his arms around Alex’s thighs to hold him there against the wall, looks up at him with big earnest eyes. “I like it, God, I like it, you look fucking fantastic, did I mention you’re glowing?”

Alex giggles, a little shaky, and pets John’s hair. “You did,” he whispers. John grins.

“You’re fucking radiant,” John says. He keeps his eyes locked on Alex’s when he tips himself forward and presses more kisses to Alex’s belly, humming, sending vibrations straight down to Alex’s dick.

“I love this,” he whispers, “It’s nice, it’s so soft, you’re so lovely.”

Alex bites his lip, watching him. He lets John suck a mark under his belly button, his toes curling up a little in his shoes, before pushing him away and starting to unbuckle his belt. John sits back on the balls of his feet, watching Alex undo his pants. The position draws Alex’s eyes straight to his thighs, the thick muscle there, and he licks his lips, shimmies his pants down his hips faster.

“Shit, my shoes,” he says dumbly and John chuckles, kisses his knee, and undoes Alex’s shoes, sliding them off his feet and taking his socks off too, eventually tugging Alex’s trousers down and off fully.

He runs his palms up Alex’s calves, squeezes the muscle there. “You have really nice legs, you know that?” he asks and Alex grins at him, heart fluttering.

“You’ve told me that once or twice, yeah,” he says, thinking about all the times John would run his hands up Alex’s legs, pull them tight around his waist, the times he’s fucked Alex’s thighs, the times he’d push and bend Alex’s legs over his shoulder while fucking into him, pressing palms to his haunches and using them as leverage to go faster, harder.

Alex feels his cock twitch and John’s eyes fly to it, thickening in his boxers, and he stands up.

“Bed,” he says, and starts to shrug off his own shirt, kicking his shoes off and wriggling out of his pants as he leads Alex backwards. Alex watches every inch of skin be revealed, almost chokes on his own fucking tongue when he spies that John has _ink_.

“What’s that,” he hears himself say in a faint voice and John stops, follows Alex’s line of sight, and says “Oh.”

“Oh?” Alex repeats, strangled.

John laughs nervously. “It’s stupid, I was with Adrienne, and she wanted to do something impulsive, so we went and got tattoos.”

Alex steps forwards, his fingers reaching out. They connect with John’s skin, warm and clumped with freckles in all the same places that Alex remembers, and he trails the tips up and across John’s ribs, lingering over the lines of black ink.

“It’s [a bee](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b91cec72d3c032b2b7bd79db1f9511be/tumblr_o8goilHcHZ1tyan4oo1_250.jpg),” he says dumbly and John chuckles. It makes his ribs move, his intercostal muscles tense up, and Alex watches it play out across his skin.

“Why a bee?” he says finally, once his fingers have traced the path around the tattoo fully. It’s nicely done, simple, a furry little bee inside a diamond shape of dots, its legs and its wings just going past the lines of the shape. It’s small and intricate, lots of little details, and Alex winces thinking about how much it must have hurt to sit there and have someone scrape into your fragile skin, so close to the bone. John always chased pain though, loved getting into fights, so he guesses it makes sense that he’d choose one of the most painful places on the body to get a tattoo.

“Adrienne wanted a bee,” John shrugs, answering the question he’d almost forgotten he’d asked, “And… I like bees. They make honey. They work really hard. In a way, they remind me of you.”

Alex tears his eyes off the ink and blinks up at him. “I make honey?” he asks.

“No,” John rolls his eyes, “But one of my favourite things about you is that you smell of honey. Or you used to, anyway,” he corrects himself. “It’s ridiculous and sentimental but it wasn’t that long after we’d ended and I still thought about you a lot and at the time it seemed like a nice reminder to have.”

Alex strokes his fingers over the ink. “I like it,” he says finally, “But next time you want to get matching tattoos then you’re doing it with me.”

John’s eyes go strangely dark, considering Alex was mostly joking, and he leans down and sucks Alex’s bottom lip into his mouth, worries his tongue over the flesh and it makes Alex flail and pitch forward into his chest. Their skin presses together and both of them moan, John breaking away for a second only to dip back down and lick into Alex’s mouth, a hot and wet kiss that goes on for so long that Alex feels a bit dizzy.

They stumble backwards, Alex’s knees hitting the bed and making him awkwardly fall, and John follows him, crawls on top of him, pins him down. Alex bucks up and grabs at his back to bring him closer, to get their skin pressed together in as many places as it can be, and they both suck in sharp breaths when their dicks rub up against each other.

“Shit,” John says, looking strained. He licks his lips and then sits up, slides up the bed properly and flops on his back. Alex whines at the loss of his weight pressing him down but goes willingly, plasters himself all over John and starts peppering kisses in the crook of his neck.

It’s nice, actually, to be on top of him, because this way Alex can essentially do whatever he wants. John seems more than happy to let Alex take his mouth and tongue and teeth wherever he wants across his body, biting his shoulders, licking his nipples, kissing his freckles. He rubs his palms up Alex’s back, digs his fingers into Alex’s thighs, grabs a fistful of Alex’s hair and pulls him upwards, drags their lips together. Alex feels himself harden a little more at the slight pain, feels a thrill go through him when he realises that John still knows exactly how to play him.

But he won’t give in quite yet, still wants to mark John up and stake his claim. As stupidly animalistic as it is, the urge is too strong to resist and he’s a weak man when it comes to John anyway. He jolts when John bites his lip and pulls away quickly before he can sink too far into the feeling and shimmies down John’s body. He runs his tongue over John’s tattoo, feels his muscles jump, then follows a lazy trail down his abs and past his belly button until he’s ghosting his mouth over the head of his hard cock, still in his boxers.

John watches him with heavy lidded eyes, breathing hard, and gestures for Alex to pull his boxers down. Alex does, eagerly, dragging the fabric over the cut of his hips and down his thighs, watching how his cock lays hard against his stomach. He wants to get his mouth on it, wrap his lips around him and swallow him down, wet and messy. He takes his time, though, tosses John’s boxers somewhere across the room and noses at his balls.

John groans and tips his head back and his hands slide into Alex’s hair, massaging his head gently and holding it against his crotch. Alex doesn’t protest, merely sucks one of John’s balls into his mouth and revels in the feeling of John’s thighs tightening around his head.

He moves to mouth at the base of John’s cock, getting him wet, and works his way all the way up to the tip, already dripping for him. John’s moaning steadily, deep sounds that echo in Alex’s ears, and he’s gone from holding Alex’s head into tangling his fingers in the roots of his hair and tugging rhythmically. He doesn’t mind, loves it really, the sharp little yanks keep his head clear and distract him from his own cock, which is painfully hard and still in his boxers.

Alex pulls back to breathe for a second, admiring how wet he’s got John already. John’s cock is so familiar to him and yet he’s experiencing the giddy feelings of newness, like he’s doing this for the first time. It’s far from the first time he’s sucked John off, he knows, but it’s been so long that it feels like every sensation, every discovery is fresh. John’s cock, the length of it, the thickness, the weight, the way he tastes, all of it he knows sits somewhere in his memories but for now he decides to savour this moment, relearning John.

He grins and leans in to lick up his precum, dip his mouth down around the head, and grind his tongue into John’s corona, hard. He does this over and over, wants to tease John, wants to drive him crazy. John’s hips buck and Alex feels gratified for a second that his teasing is working when suddenly he finds his mouth full of come, and he chokes a little in surprise, the white seed dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin. John groans long and low and Alex swallows what’s left in his mouth, staring up at John whose arm is flung over his face.

Alex really wasn’t expecting that, not so soon, and he’s upset for a split second that he didn’t get to watch John’s face when he came, but he figures if John can get off that fast then he can get hard again pretty speedily too.

“Oh my God,” John moans and Alex wipes off his chin, licks his fingers. “I’m so sorry, I’m so embarrassed, oh my God.”

“Hey, no, don’t be sorry,” Alex swats his thigh, trying to get John to look at him. John just moans more and presses his hand down over his face.

“I’m going to have to move to Ecuador,” he says nonsensically, “I’m moving to Ecuador, changing my name and shaving my eyebrows, you’ll never find me again.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Alex says. He straddles John’s thighs and tries to pry his hands off his face. “And I’m sure I’d be able to find you. All I’d have to do is ask for the dude with no eyebrows and everyone would point me in the right direction.”

John sighs, rubs his face. Alex whispers, _hey come on, look at me, hey,_ over and over until John lets himself peek out again, and Alex shushes him and smoothes his fingers through his hair. A part of him wants to remark on how strange it is to run his fingers through John’s curls and have them be short rather than long but he ignores it for now, concentrates on coaxing John into looking at him properly.

“What’s the problem,” he says eventually, cupping John’s face.

John pouts up at him. “I didn’t mean to, you know, so fast,” he says in a dejected voice.

Alex hides his smile by pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You can get it up again, take as much time as you need. I can wait for it.”

John groans again, but his fingers creep up Alex’s thighs, up the hem of his boxer shorts.

“It’s just embarrassing,” he whines, “It’s been a while, is all. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s hard to find time to date.”

“Not even just a one night stand?”

“Gotta find a sitter for the baby, gotta get myself dressed up all nice, gotta get appropriately drunk in order to fuck a stranger, gotta stop myself from worrying about the baby, the list goes on,” he waves his hand and Alex catches it, twining their fingers together.

“You’ve got me now,” he leans in close and mumbles against John’s lips, “On demand. Whenever you want, however you want,” and John huffs a light laugh, kissing him shallowly, his mouth barely moving, and then surprises Alex by hauling his body up and off him, shoving him down on his back and and clambering on top.

“My turn,” he says wickedly and immediately dives straight for Alex’s nipples. Alex’s back arcs immediately up into the air and he gasps, already squirming at the first touch of John’s mouth.

John sets his teeth to his nipple, tugs up a little, and Alex whines and jerks his hips, a reaction he’s slightly embarrassed about. He can feel himself getting hot, like his lust is making all the blood in his body boil, and it just heightens when John pushes his palms firmly onto Alex’s hips to hold him down. He scrapes his teeth over both of Alex’s nipples, gets them red and raw and stinging, and then soothes the ache with long wet sucks that make Alex shiver.

John moves from his chest downwards, humming as he goes, dragging little kisses against the moles that fleck on Alex’s skin irregularly. There’s one just under his ribs that he knows John knows is ticklish and he jolts and giggles when John flicks his tongue over the bump. He can feel John smile against his skin and sighs at the wonder of it. He’s hit once again by the notion that he can’t quite believe this is happening, can’t quite connect current events to previous ones, as if his brain is only half way through the process of creating the bridge from his broken heart to his full one, warm and beating with love.

John wriggles down and Alex spreads his legs to make room so John can lie between them. John rolls his eyes when he realises Alex is still wearing his boxers and pulls them off without ceremony, making Alex gasp at the sensation of the cool air across the wet head of his dick. John makes a pleased noise, and Alex thinks for a second that he’ll wrap his mouth around the head, but he directs kisses to the inside of Alex’s thighs instead. Alex lets out a steady breath, head thumping back into the pillow, and relaxes the spread of his legs wider, closes his eyes and enjoys the sweet way John seems determined to kiss every inch of his skin.

John kisses down his thighs and Alex laughs when he mouths over his knee, thinks he’s going to stop, but John just continues downwards and noses at his calf. Alex scrunches up his nose, curling his toes up, because while John might think the shape of his legs are nice, his leg hair is an entirely different matter. But John doesn’t seem to care, pressing kisses to his ankle, the arch of his foot. Alex almost kicks him in the face when he reaches his toes and John smirks, lightly pecks the pad of his big toe, and then switches to the other leg, moving upwards.

Alex watches him in bemusement, enjoying the attention but also feeling completely incredulous that John’s spending so much time on parts of his body that typically aren’t erogenous zones for him. The inside of his thighs he’ll give him, Alex thinks absently, sucking in a sharp breath when John bites at the fragile skin, but the rest he chalks up to John just being John.

He watches through his lashes as John ghosts his hands up Alex’s hips, barely touching him, and the tease of it makes his stomach wobble. John’s gaze jumps up and fixes on his belly and Alex feels self conscious all over again, a little bit embarrassed at the weight he’s put on since John left, the little tummy he had during college expanding. He shifts against the bed when John starts to mouth at the skin.

“Hm, no,” John says, pushing Alex’s hips down, hard. “Stay there, don’t move.” Alex thinks about twisting away, disobeying, but ultimately gives in and tries to relax into the mattress, pliant.

“This is lovely,” John says, and he’s rubbing his fingers into the chub of Alex’s hips now, pinching every now and then. Alex hisses, arches up into it and John grins.

“Sensitive,” John observes, smirking. “Noted,” and then he dives straight into driving Alex utterly out of his mind by petting all over his belly, licking and sucking marks into the giving flesh, scraping his teeth under his belly button. Alex can hear himself making high pitched noises, which he has half a mind to be embarrassed about, but the whole thing is just too good to care about sounding like a desperate slut.

His dick twitches and drips against his stomach and John keeps avoiding touching it, but he licks up the precum that wells in the dip of Alex’s belly, and Alex almost passes out at the sight. John’s left red marks all over his tummy, the inside of his thighs, his hips and Alex if fucking euphoric, riding high on the feeling of being branded as John’s once more.

John presses a lingering kiss above his belly button and rests his chin on Alex’s stomach, apparently having fulfilled his need to make Alex writhe. Alex slides shaky hands into his short hair, feeling his soft curls slip through his fingers.

“What do you want?” John asks, and Alex glances down and sees that John is half hard again, well on his way to being able to go again.

Alex licks his lips for a second, thinking, and then lets go of John’s hair, tugs at his shoulders until he crawls up his body and hovers over him. He looks into John’s eyes, the deep brown of them, the hunger and love he can see in them, and reaches down to fist their cocks together. Watching John’s eyes flutter shut and and the way his mouth drops open a little bit is incredible, his face so expressive, eyebrows drawn together. Alex tries to watch him for as long as possible but the friction of his hand over their cocks, the way their lengths slide together sweetly, ends up being a distraction he can’t resist, and he closes his eyes and gives in to the feeling.

Alex’s hands aren’t all that big so wrapping around both their lengths proves slightly difficult, but John props himself up on one arm and covers his spare hand over Alex’s, helps his grip become firmer, and they both groan at the sensation. John rocks his hips down, aiding the friction, and Alex gasps. John takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth and they kiss, slow and dirty, almost lazy, as if they’ve got all the time in the world.

The lust Alex feels pumping around his body becomes too urgent though and he whines, jerks his hips up, and their rhythm falls out of sync. John chuckles and bites his lip, making it swollen and achey.

“You wanna come like this?” John asks and Alex almost says _yes, let me come, I need to come right now,_ before he thinks about how nice it would be to have John back inside him again. He shakes his head minutely and John raises an eyebrow.

“Want you to fuck me,” Alex pants, “Want you inside me, I wanna feel full, John, can we?”

John kisses him, hard. “Of course we can, of course, _querida,_ uh,” he says and then blinks rapidly. “I don’t actually have any condoms.”

Alex stares at him. “This is like our first time all over again,” he says faintly. “You didn’t bring condoms?”

“Why would I bring condoms?”

Alex flails his hands about. “Because it’s a _wedding?_ ” he says, strangled, thumping his head back into the pillow. “Oh my God, I know Lafayette has some but they’re in our room.”

“Christ, this really is like our first time,” John says, and there’s bubbling laughter in his voice. “Which one of us is gonna buck up and run naked down the hallway to grab ‘em?”

“In the vein of recreating our first time, as we’re apparently doing, I say it should be you,” Alex says decisively and proceeds to push John off him. John yelps, glares at him, but dutifully stands up. He finds a pair of stray boxers and slides them on, though, rather than go naked, but the fabric does absolutely nothing to hide his abundant arousal.

“I’ll be right back,” John calls but stops when he gets to the door, hand lingering on the handle. “Don’t touch yourself,” he says and his voice is dark. Alex’s breath hitches and John leaves the room, shutting the door behind him with barely a noise but it’s enough to make Alex squeeze his hands into fists.

Don’t touch yourself, okay, he can do that, he can just _ignore_ his straining hard on, that won’t be a problem at all. He flexes his toes, staring at the spot that John just vacated, tries desperately not to think about wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking himself off, rocking his hips up into the sweet friction, coming all over his fist. He thinks instead of how nice it’ll be to have John open him up, John’s fingers deep inside only to be replaced by his cock, filling up every inch of him. It doesn’t help, particularly, but his desire for John is just edging out his desire to come and he manages to keep his hands off himself.

John returns pretty quickly, holding a few condoms and a bottle of lube. "Good boy," he breathes and Alex raises his eyebrows as John climbs back on top of him and John pulls an innocent face.

“What?” he asks playfully, “You thought we weren’t gonna go again in the morning? You thought wrong.”

He pushes Alex’s thighs apart, rubs his thumbs over the marks still on his skin. Alex watches him pump out some lube onto his fingers, rub them around so they’re coated, then he bends Alex’s legs, kisses his knee, and starts to circle a finger against his entrance, eyes locked on that spot. Alex’s breath hitches, his legs falling open further, and he twitches his hips down, trying to get John to push in. It’s crazy how sensitive he is from just the light touch, just one of John’s wet fingers teasing at him, and he’s caught off guard, just about to give into the torture of being teased, when John sinks his finger in all the way down to the second knuckle.

Alex’s back arches off the bed and he keens, high and needy, and John kisses his knee again. Twists his finger up and out and starts to pump it inside him, a steady rhythm that only slows down when he adds a second finger. He pushes them slowly in, making sure Alex feels every second of the stretch, and it’s exquisite. Alex’s eyes roll back and he gasps when John spreads his fingers, opening him up even more, slowly stretching him to accommodate his cock.

“You’ve got it, there you go, you’re so good,” he breathes, watching his fingers fuck into Alex’s hole. “You’re so tight, so hot. You’re gonna feel so good around my cock, Alexander, _cariño._ ”

Alex whines and plants his feet on the bed higher, bending his knees more and giving John more room to work. He sighs happily and pushes in with three fingers this time and Alex is almost shaking, so close to coming undone.

“I remember how you felt,” John’s mumbling, twisting his fingers into Alex but not picking up any speed, keeping it slow and lazy. “That first time we fucked, I remember how it felt to have you in me, finally. I remember the next morning and what it felt like to be inside you. It was better than anything I’d dreamed.”

Alex wants to agree, wants to tell him the stream of thoughts that are running through his head, memories of their time together, but his brain to mouth function doesn’t seem to be working right now. He babbles out strings of words that don’t really link together and end up sounding like John’s name, over and over.

John shushes him, pets his belly, presses his fingers down in the give of his flesh. “I missed this,” he sighs, “It’s gonna be so good to be back inside you, to finally fuck you again. It’s me, this is all for me, all of you,” and he sucks hard on Alex’s skin, “Is for me. All this extra, you’ve just gotten better over the years, Alexander, _fuck_.”

He pulls his fingers out and Alex whines at the loss. John’s hands are steady and sure as he rips into the condom packet and rolls it down himself, tugging his cock a few times, and Alex feels a wave of lust rocket through him at the sight of John with his own hand on his cock.

John leans forward, plasters their chests together, kisses Alex deeply. He lines his cock up to Alex’s hole and Alex grabs onto his back, brings him closer, and in one smooth roll he’s inside. They groan in sync, John starting to rock his hips immediately, giving Alex no time to adjust, and Alex scrabbles at his back, biting his lip at the stretch and slide of him deep inside, how full he feels.

John keeps on kissing him, keeps on dipping his tongue into Alex’s mouth and moaning, sending vibrations all down Alex’s spine. His hips roll in a slow rhythm, slow like his fingers were a minute ago, and Alex whimpers. It’s hot, their sweaty skin pressed together, the afternoon heat pressing inside the room, and the way John’s fucking into him lazily actually fits the atmosphere, despite the fact that Alex wants him to speed up, wants him to go hard.

This is nice though, because John stays deep inside him, fucking him in thick strokes, and when he shifts to kiss Alex again the head of his cock nails Alex’s prostate and makes tears spring to his eyes. John rocks into his prostate with every thrust and it leaves Alex continuously gasping, babbling, digging his fingernails into John’s back.

He slides his hand down and grabs onto John’s ass, feeling the swell of the muscle as he flexes, and the other hand drags up his ribs. Alex finds his tattoo, traces his fingers over it, and John’s hips snap up quickly and he growls low in his throat.

“Fuck, Alex,” he pants, and actually starts to move his hips faster. Alex is enthusiastically on board with this and rolls his hips up to meet him, both of them moving together and creating the sweetest friction Alex can ever remember feeling.

John hitches Alex’s thighs around his waist, readjusts so he’s moved up higher, and starts to fuck him in earnest. He leans forward and kisses Alex again, and his abs slide over Alex’s dick and it makes him arc up, makes him whimper into John’s mouth. John smiles wickedly and works his hips faster, fucking him deep and hard, and makes sure that Alex’s cock rubs up against his stomach the whole time.

The stimulation is just too much, coupled with the wet slide of John deep in him, filling him up, the head of his cock catching on his rim every time he slams back in, and Alex tips his head back and comes hard, his vision going white, his ears ringing. He twitches his hips up, milks every second for what it can give him, and his dick jerks against his stomach over and over, the spill rubbing into both of their skin.

“ _Yes,_ ” John whispers, “Fuck, Alex you look so good, you feel so good, you’re incredible, I’m-”

Alex clenches his muscles around him and John groans, moves faster, his thrusts shallow now. He grabs Alex’s thigh, bends his leg up, and rearranges it so it’s over his shoulder. Alex’s eyes go wide at the new angle, the overstimulation almost too much, the stretch on his muscles slightly uncomfortable, but John’s face looks blissful, and his hips jolt in their pace. His mouth drops open when he comes, jerking inside Alex and filling the condom, and Alex drinks in every second of it, memorises it.

He lets go of Alex’s leg and Alex lets them lie open on the bed, still spread wide for John as they catch their breath. John leans in and kisses him, close mouthed, and it moves his spent cock inside Alex and they both hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against Alex’s lips and slides out slowly. Alex clenches around nothing once he’s gone, feeling absurdly empty. He makes up for it by gathering John in his arms as soon as he’s done tying off the condom, cuddling into him.

John giggles and his breath tickles across Alex’s skin. “Love you,” he whispers and Alex feels his heart thump, hard. If John hears the noise then he doesn’t comment, which Alex is thankful for.

“I love you too,” Alex says back softly.

“I’m glad you came this week,” John mumbles and Alex laughs.

“I’m glad I came too,” he manages to gasp out and John looks up at him for a second, confused and then glares at him, poking his fingers viciously into Alex’s sides.

“Don’t make an innuendo while I’m trying to confess my emotions, damn it, Alexander,” he whines and Alex laughs harder, drags him up for a kiss. John sighs into it and Alex strokes his fingers through his hair, both of them happily making out for long minutes until John seemingly becomes too tired to prop himself up.

“Seriously, though, I’m glad you came. It’s nice to be here, now, on the other side of it all,” he says.

“People are never gonna let us forget it happened like this,” Alex says, thinking about how Lafayette’s going to laud it over him for the rest of time, that he was the one to set Alex on the path back to John.

“By the way, Eliza and Adrienne want to invite us to dinner, presumably once their honeymoon period is over,” he continues.

“Our honeymoon period too,” John points out, grinning. “We get to do the whole new relationship thing all over again, I’m excited.”

Alex thinks about how they’re both in New York, they can both see each other whenever they want; thinks about going over to John’s place wherever it is and playing with Frances, having dinner with them, going to sleep next to John and waking up with him right there.

“Me too,” he says quietly, kisses John’s hair.

John sighs and settles further into Alex’s chest, closes his eyes. It’s barely gone eight, Alex can see the clock on the bedside table from here, but he feels tired too, feels the pull of sleep tugging at his mind and body. It’s been an exhausting day, both emotionally and physically, and he’s feeling a little bit drained. It’s not a bad feeling, because John’s here and he’s happy and nothing could bring him down from that, but he knows that if he naps now then he’ll feel more alert later. And waking up with John still in his arms will be a bonus, he thinks, blinking sleepily.

John snuffles into his skin, rubs his nose against Alex’s sternum and Alex hums happily. Closes his eyes and lets sleep wash over him.

 

.

 

When Alex wakes up, John is hovering over him, beaming. He startles for a second, not expecting the sight, but relaxes almost instantly, the memories of the day flooding his brain and making him smile.

“Hello,” John says, and leans in to kiss his nose.

Alex scrunches his face up, yawns, and wraps his arms around John. “What a nice way to wake up,” he says happily and John grins, kisses his shoulder.

It’s goddamn glorious to be able to reach out and touch John, to have him right there at the end of his fingertips, to have him reciprocate each touch in kind with just as much love and affection, if not more than what Alex is giving him.

When Alex shifts to get more comfortable, he can feel that John is hard against his thigh and he raises his eyebrows. John ducks his head and sucks a bruise into Alex’s collarbone, and Alex can’t help but gasp.

“We have more condoms,” John murmurs, “I bet you’re still open, bet you’d take me so well, I bet we could go again.”

“How much are we betting?” Alex says breathlessly and John grins, wide, his teeth showing.

“I’ll bet you an orgasm,” he waggles his eyebrows and Alex groans, pushes at him. John goes easily, lifts himself off Alex and grabs a condom and the lube off the bedside table. Alex takes the liberty of turning onto his side whilst he’s gone, twists his torso flat onto the mattress and bends his knee up, presenting his ass to John. He hears John groan, feels him slide onto the bed behind him and and press his chest against Alex’s back.

Alex sighs while John kisses over his shoulders, feeling lazy. John’s fingers probe his hole, sink in a few times, feeling how Alex is still loose from before and relaxed from sleep. Alex, strangely, loves the blunt manner in which John goes about it, like he’s being used, like he’s just a warm place for John to sink his cock into. He’s not, of course, and John doesn’t think that, but the fantasy spins out in his head anyway.

John takes his fingers away and replaces them with his cock, nudging the head at the rim and sliding his length in deep, groaning. Alex takes him mostly easily, the stretch a little achey but still good. He can feel himself thickening against his thigh, his cock starting to gain interest, and he wraps his hand lightly around his length and starts to fist himself gently.

At this angle it’s hard for John to move properly but he rocks his hips unhurriedly, seemingly happy to just be inside Alex, and Alex clenches down around him on purpose. Because his legs aren’t fully open, the slide of John’s cock inside him feels impossibly thicker, closer, like John is bigger than he actually is, and Alex swipes the precum around the head of his cock and moans, pushing his ass back.

John wraps his arm around his waist, props himself up his elbow with the other, and rolls Alex over fully onto his stomach while staying inside him. Alex goes with it, moaning as his cock rubs into the sheets, and John starts to thrust easier. He’s on his knees straddling both of Alex’s legs instead of between them and spreading them, so Alex gets to keep the thick feeling of John pushing into his hole over and over.

“You’re so tight like this,” John whispers. He kisses Alex’s back, licks down his spine, his thrusts coming faster now. Alex wriggles and tries to get some friction on his cock but it’s not much and he groans, resigning himself to the frustration of not coming quickly.

It allows him to concentrate on the movement of John’s cock inside him though, which is almost better than getting off. John pushes his palms down on the small of Alex’s back and fucks him faster, chasing his orgasm, and Alex clenches down over and over until John shouts and comes, his dick twitching as he spills.

He pulls out of Alex slowly, but doesn’t turn him over. Instead he gets his hands under Alex’s hips and pulls his ass up in the air, so his knees bend a little, and wraps his hand around Alex’s cock. Alex whines, twists his hands in the sheets, jerking his cock through John’s fist. John bites his ass cheeks and Alex yelps at the sting. He tightens his fist around Alex’s cock, the wetness of the precum Alex is dripping all over his fingers helping the slide, and surprises him by burying his face between Alex’s cheeks, touching his tongue to his open hole.

Alex shouts, rocks back and forth, can’t quite decide between fucking his hips up into John’s hand or pushing his ass back onto his tongue. John takes his sweet time licking Alex out, driving him crazy with long broad strokes and then making him shiver when he points his tongue and thrusts it into him. He flattens his tongue inside him, thrusts into him shallowly, thick and wet and lovely, and Alex comes all over his fingers in a blinding rush, the waves of his orgasm crashing over him and making him whimper into the sheets.

John pulls out, disappears for a long minute and then comes back with a wet cloth. Alex hisses as it drags over his skin but it feels so good to wipe away all the mess, all the sweat that’s been clinging to his skin.

John turns him over, climbs on top of him, and kisses him deep and hard. Alex sighs into it, flicking his tongue lazily against John’s, until John pulls away and looks at him, smoothing a few strands of hair off his forehead.

“You taste like lube,” Alex says once his brain is working again and John snorts, his nose and all his freckles scrunching up. Alex grins sillily and pats his cheek, his fingers lingering at the edges of John’s smile.

“We’re both pretty gross right now,” John says fairly and Alex hums in agreement. “Shower?” he asks and Alex slumps into the mattress even further.

“You’ll have to carry me, I don’t think I can move,” he murmurs and then yelps when John actually starts to gather him up and walk with him in his arms.

“Oh my God, John, put me down!” he cries but John just holds on tighter and, grinning, carries Alex bridal style to the bathroom.

“You’re ridiculous and I hate you,” Alex says flatly once John puts him down and John laughs at him, smacks his ass, and tells him that’s a lie.

Alex pouts and John kisses it away, herding Alex into the shower. It’s nice, the water warm, John humming in his ear, his hands touching Alex’s everywhere, his smell surrounding him. It feels good to be looked after like this, and it’s even nicer knowing it’s John who’s doing it, so he leans back on the tiles and tells John he loves him.

“I love you too,” John says simply, bubbles in his hair from the shampoo. Alex’s heart feels absurdly full just looking at him, wants to look at him forever.

The next few hours pass in a blur, both of them crawling back into bed damp and naked and just touching each other, lazily making out, with no intention of going further. John’s grabbed the baby monitor from the chest of drawers he put it before and placed it on the bedside table, turns it up once they’re just lying together happily so they can hear Frances shuffling about and making little noises in her sleep.

John’s right when he predicted that Frances would sleep the whole night through easily and Alex wakes up the next morning to find John shifting off the bed quietly and pulling on some sweatpants, the pale night of dawn creeping through the windows.

He whines pathetically, reaching for John. “Where are you going?” he says in as loud a voice as he can muster.

John shushes him, kisses his forehead. “I’m gonna go get Frances, we usually spend some time waking up together in the morning. I’ll be back in a second, don’t worry,” he whispers.

“You want to- Like, with me here?” Alex says dumbly and John blinks at him.

“Yes,” he says firmly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If you want to.”

Alex feels his heart swell in his chest, painfully, and he has a fly away thought that it’s way too early in the morning for this kind of emotional onslaught.

“I’d like that,” he says quietly and John fucking beams at him, brilliant and sunny, and Alex feels cold once he leaves the room.

He comes back with Frances tucked into his hip, her eyes still sleepy and her hair a mess. Alex has taken the time to pull on some clothes himself, except they’re John’s so they’re baggy on him, and he feels small. He feels even smaller when John deposits Frances in the middle of the mattress and slides in after her, meaning that Frances is laying down between them, her soft eyes blinking up at Alex.

“Who’s that?” John says and point at Alex. Frances just stares at him sleepily and jams her fingers into her mouth, drools over her fist. John huffs, rubs a hand against her belly.

“That’s Alexander. You remember I told you all about him?”

“You told her about me?” Alex finds his voice finally, surprised.

John nods slowly, avoiding his eyes. “It’s been a long week, and Frances is basically my best friend. I spent a lot of time talking to her to calm myself down,” he mumbles. Alex’s heart gives a hard thump and he tangles his fingers with John’s over Frances’ stomach, wanting to let him know he’s here, now, he’s not going anywhere.

Frances squirms between them, wriggles around so she can grab at John’s nose, makes nonsense little noises that John echoes back at her while Alex laughs at him. Their hands stay joined together, holding Frances between them, and Alex pictures a life like this, mornings like this, that stretch out before him like a promise.

“I love you,” he says quietly and John looks at him, his eyes soft, and smiles.

“I love you too,” he says back and Alex feels warm all over.

Frances throws her arms up and John tickles her sides, making her squeal, and Alex joins in the laughter and decides to live in the moment. The future will always be there, and hopefully it will be with John, but the present is where he’s loved, right now, and it feels absolutely incredible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved writing this fic. it seems <7% of you enjoyed reading it. are 93% of you unable to press a button or did you genuinely dislike this fic? in that case, i will take it down. don't be a dick. leave feedback.


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